


O.B.E.

by cellwright



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Body Swap AU, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Slow Burn, based off of Royal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellwright/pseuds/cellwright
Summary: “There’s no way that we’re…” Akira said slowly, but low and behold, his words came out in the voice of Ryuji.It was jarring to open your eyes and see your own slumped body on the ground instead of your teammates.obligatory body swap au
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 123
Kudos: 404





	1. It Always Starts With a Shadow

_Part I_

The Phantom Thieves now had Medjed checked off the grocery list of defeated targets, thoroughly taken care off _and_ secured under their belts, all with a new teammate to aid them on the rest of their journey. 

Ryuji had gotten used to the adrenaline that regularly thrummed through his veins ever since he’d unleashed the full potential of Captain Kidd. After all, it was difficult to return from the high in between exploring palaces, completing requests in Mementos, and being forced to act as an unassuming student during all of it. He struggled to keep his mouth shut as it was, but he prayed that the constant jumping of his fingers on a table or his leg under his desk wouldn’t be a giveaway, somehow. 

The same adrenaline combined with the electricity that came with summoning Ryuji’s Persona while fighting shadows made for an intense thrill in battle, it was different than he’d ever felt before. He found himself losing track of the number of shadows they’ve defeated in Mementos on every trip, even when he tried to make a game out of it and force himself to count for the hell of it. 

The most he ever got to was 26, before every _Zionga_ he unleashed at a shadow was enough to fizzle any focus he had on counting. Power ebbed through every fiber of his being when he was fully immersed in battle, and upon poorly relaying the feeling to Ann, she said she felt it too. 

It was difficult to come down from, especially when all Ryuji had on his mind was being a Phantom Thief. How powerful he felt taking justice into his own hands, how much he liked the sensation of feeling like he could fry a circuit board with the tip of his finger if he focused hard enough on achieving the fact. He never expected any of his power to translate into the real world, albeit it was in tiny, unassuming ways. 

Ryuji noticed it in the rest of the team whenever they were out and about in the city, allowing themselves a momentary break from Phantom Thief business in the form of dart games and billiards in Kichijoji. Though, their Personas could never really leave their spirit even outside of the Metaverse. 

“Skull, you ready?”

Ryuji didn’t have time to dwell on it any longer. 

The team was in Mementos that evening, planning on exploring a few more levels to gain some experience and fulfill the stacking Phansite requests. Morgana, as they had dubbed him the “Mona-bus”, had just ambushed a wandering shadow amongst the creeping vines that slithered up the dark walls, and Akira was looking at Ryuji with a glint in his eye. 

Ryuji didn’t realize he and Joker were the last to be sitting in the Mona-bus, as the rest of the team had pooled out to take care of the shadow. 

“Ready as ever, man,” Skull responded, signature deviant grin pushing the corners of his mask up on his face. 

Oracle informed them that by the looks of it, the shadow before them was nothing they haven’t handled before, and Joker was pretty sure he had a Persona with a curse ability to target its weakness. 

The air shifted, but Skull was too antsy to pick up on it. It was easy to chalk it up to the energy stored in his limbs, and how badly he needed to release it. It had been a while since he summoned his Persona, what with being too busy with initiating Futaba into the team for the past week and softening her resolve against the world outside of her PC. 

Joker cast a curse spell onto it, but it didn’t send the shadow to the ground like it had with the others they’ve seen previously. 

Oracle muttered into their intercoms, “That’s weird, I have it listed in the system with a Curse weakness. Looks like it’s gonna be a little difficult if it’s a wildcard-- try Psychokinesis when you can!”

Jokers turn was up, and he was the only one with the Psy skill. Instead, he instructed Ryuji to try zapping it with a hefty bout of electricity in an attempt to elicit a reaction out of it that would provide some clues. 

Other than it’s weakness not matching its companions, the shadow was off in more ways than one. It was uncharacteristically still, not even offering a sway to indicate a life behind its dimmed eyes. Its copies were usually bright with light, from their glowing aura and misty appearance, whereas this one's skin cracked with dryness at the spaces where distorted limb met with distorted limb.

“Could this be…?” Mona muttered under his breath, but not before Joker instructed him to send a gust of Magaru towards the shadow. No, it couldn’t…

However, before Mona could conjure the wind spell, the shadow lifted it’s head. 

“Mona, hold,” Joker said, stiffening his posture. It was unlike Mementos to be so silent that the air flow felt like it had stopped completely. 

There wasn’t time to absorb the scene properly before it began to suddenly unfold; The shadows' eyes grew blindingly bright in a couple of moments, catching the party off guard. 

Mona should have realized sooner. 

“GET OUTTA THE WAY!” he yelled, his and Ann’s catlike agility allowing them to jump out the way and behind Mementos debris in time. The rest had been watching from their own posts, ready to jump in in place of the initial party if need be. 

The shadow wasn’t interested in them, though. It had trained the growing, too-bright light towards Joker and Skull, who had their arms thrown up over their eyes to shield them from getting blinded. 

Ryuji couldn’t remember exactly what happened after that. 

He was on the ground, thrown unceremoniously so. Every heaving breath he forced through his lungs intensified the ache at his side where he landed, but he couldn’t manage enough air to lessen the pain. God, he definitely wasn’t leaving Mementos without a couple of bruises to show for it. 

He couldn’t feel Skull’s mask where it usually rested over his eyes; it probably fell off of his face when he was dropped. A groan escaped his lips when he tried to push himself up using his arms, and he realized how dry his mouth was. 

Joker wasn’t faring any better. He was probably thrown onto his right leg with how intensely it throbbed at him, but the pain wasn’t too different from how the rest of his body felt every time he made to move. 

Dust. There was dust billowing like a fog around them when he opened his eyes, probably the impact of the shadow raising it at the intensity of the blow it sent at him and Skull. Or did it levitate them into the air and drop them onto the ground? Joker found himself not being able to recall the details after another wave of pain pulsed through his leg. 

His eyelids felt heavy, tear ducts overflowing with how intensely the dust gathered in them and he closed them again. His head felt too fuzzy to think about anything else but how his body ached, and every time he thought he was feeling better, he’d be gifted with a fresh wave of pain to remind him of it. 

“Akira!” came the worried cry from Ann, code names be damned. The dust must have cleared out as he became aware of the nearing pad of the heels, the team running over to where he presumed he and Ryuji were.

With how Ann yelled his name first, Akira expected her signature heels to clack over to him first, but instead he heard her drop to her knees on his… right. 

He didn’t mind her checking up on Ryuji first, but he could have sworn Ryuji was on his left in the party when they began fighting...

The shadow jostled them up, that was for sure. 

Instead, Akira heard Makoto’s armor clang over his head and a hand came to rest on the side of his face. 

“Ryuji, you there?” she asked, voice straining with worry. 

Ryuji…

“Huh?” Akira grunted, wondering why she was addressing him as…

Makoto sighed in relief at a response, though she hadn’t noticed Akira’s confusion yet. 

“Why the hell’re you callin’ me Akira?” 

It was Ryuji’s tone of speech, but it sounded wrong in Akira’s voice. 

No, wait, that was… that was Akira’s voice! But if Ryuji was there, and _he_ was here…

“There’s no way that we’re…” Akira said slowly, but low and behold, his words came out in the voice of Ryuji. 

It was jarring to open your eyes and see your own slumped body on the ground instead of your teammates. 


	2. Probably, Probably

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team talks about what it means for Akira and Ryuji to have switched bodies, and the two have a talk of their own. It's more lighthearted than it sounds like.

“But how could they have possibly…” Even Makoto’s brows were furrowed in confusion, the knuckle of her index finger nestled between her teeth in concentration. 

The creaky floorboards of LeBlanc’s attic whined under Akira’s uncharacteristic pacing, though the habit was usually reserved for Ryuji during meetings. Ryuji was sat at the head of the table they usually took out whenever they met up to discuss business instead, right in Akira’s signature chair. 

It took a moment to remember that they were in each other's body, but in the end the team decided to refer to whoever they were talking to, regardless of whose body it was. 

“To think I’d see it with my own eyes…” Morgana muttered in awe to himself from where he was curled up on the table. 

“See _what?_ ” Futaba asked, and it came out as more of a snap. Excusably, they were all on edge. Regardless of what it would mean for the team and their Personas, they cared foremost about what their situation would mean for Akira and Ryuji. 

“It’s fuzzy, but…” Morgana started, and Ryuji’s consciousness groaned from Akira’s body. “I’ve heard stories of old shadows like this, but they’re not like the other active ones we’ve seen… they’re so rare I didn’t even _think_ …” 

“So what, there’s a rare shadow that switches people’s bodies? That doesn’t make any sense,” Ann piped up, and she was right, it _didn’t_ make sense. The concept didn’t exactly follow the status quo of Mementos’ many quirks (as outlandish as they were), but the more they took into consideration everything they had already witnessed… 

“It sounds weird when you put it so simply, but it scrambles up the cognition of someone's body when it messes with the _conscious_ as well. I… can’t say I understand the logistics, but I’m assuming since Akira and Ryuji were the only ones who aggravated it, and we all jumped out of the way, it only targeted their understanding of their consciousness.”

Makoto slowly nodded at Morgana’s explanation, but even she had a hard time fully understanding. Morgana couldn’t have been fully to blame though, she doubted he had a grasp of it all if he only heard stories. 

“Are we gonna switch back or not?!” 

God, it would never _not_ be weird hearing a Ryuji-tone coming out of Akiras usually-quiet mouth. 

“They say it takes exactly 7 days, so… time isn’t really a concept in the Metaverse… You’ll probably switch at 5 next Tuesday.”

“Probably?” Yusuke muttered. 

_Probably…_

Ryuji didn’t have anything to grumble towards that. Instead, he finally forced himself to take a break from his incessant pacing and sat on the edge of Akira’s bed. 

He brought his hand up to run his hand through his hair, but found he was pushing Akira’s thick curls off of his forehead instead. Geez, did the guy ever get hot under all that effin’ hair? Ryuji felt the heat on the back of his neck rising with how thick it was when he became aware of it. 

It was unnerving to have the free will to run his hands through the hair he’s always wanted to touch, too. Ryuji couldn’t help but be curious-- he didn’t think _anyone_ could, it looked so damn soft! He knew Ann shared the sentiment too, but in a way it felt so... wrong. 

He felt like he had to ask Akira for permission just to do anything involving his body, but every time he turned to look at Akira for some form of confirmation, he was only met with himself, sitting at the head of the meeting table where he didn’t belong. It was weird to see your own expression look so… somber? Ryuji couldn’t place it, no matter how well he thought he knew his own face, and it drove him nuts. 

Akira was silent while they discussed. He looked to be deep in thought, but it wasn’t noticed by the rest of the team among their busy discussion. 

Ann remembered, “So, seven days… that’s before the Hawaii trip, right?” 

Shit, _that_. 

“The trip’s on the seventh, so you’ll switch the night before...” Makoto answered, a little concerned about how convenient the timing was. 

“And if we don’t?” Akira finally spoke up. 

No one was going to say it if he didn’t.

A blanket of silence overtook the room; Even Yusuke let his usually-stoic expression rest into a frown that tugged at the corners of his lips. They didn’t want to think the worst. 

Yusuke dryly laughed, “To think we had such a beautiful day at the beach yesterday…”

They had just nudged Futaba out of her shell, too. She rested her chin on her knees from where she was quietly folded up next to Ann on the couch, her own brows atypically furrowed. 

“We’ll have to wait and see, but there’s no point dwelling on the negatives,” Makoto sighed. She was right, they had to keep their heads up. They had a school trip to look forward to if everything had gone along to plan.

Probably. 

The less important fact dawned on Akira a moment later. “I’m missing a whole week of work!”

Ryuji laughed. “That’s s’posed to be a concern right now?”

“Yeah, I buy all your crap with this _concern_!” 

That snapped Ryuji’s mouth up quickly. “I-It ain’t that hard, is it? Don’t you work at a flower shop or somethin’?”

Akira dropped his head in his hands and grumbled, “And a beef bowl shop, convenience store, gun shop, a bar on Sundays… _and_ medical experiments for Takemi at her office for discounted medicine-- God, hopefully she doesn’t need anything this week.”

The team never acknowledged the full extent of Akira’s contribution to the team other than weapon upgrades and leading them until then. Of course upgrading their gear whenever they could _and_ all the medicine they used was going to cost money, but the thought had always left their minds. They assumed they got along well with whatever they picked up in the Metaverse and pawned off at Untouchable. 

“Oh my,” Yusuke muttered when Ryuji let out a low whistle. 

“I gotta do all that for a week?!”

Ryuji had worked the odd job before whenever bills grew tight, but it was always something for his neighbors or a family friend. Actual work experience, though? Nada. He barely knew if he’d have the right customer service attitude if he ever _did_ get a proper job. 

“I’ll just call out for the week-- I don’t wanna get fired,” Akira replied, “We’ll just be a week behind on funds, especially with the trip coming up. We won’t have upgrades for a while, but we’ll manage.”

“Yeah, I doubt Ryuji could even figure out what to do at a flower shop,” Morgana smirked, but it only warranted a growl from Ryuji. 

Soon, the teams trains were nearing their last rounds through the city and it was time to leave. Futaba scampered down to the cafe when Sojiro was closing up and told her it was time to go, Morgana on her trail. He didn’t want to deal with the probably-heavy conversation Akira and Ryuji were planning on having to talk out the situation, and impromptu sleepover that would follow. 

Akira and Ryuji were left in the attic, finally alone. Eventually, Akira moved to the bed and settled himself in front of Ryuji, but they weren’t going to talk just yet. 

Instead, the invitation was opened up to just stare at each other. 

Akira had read in a book once that it would be impossible to distinguish a clone of yourself if you had ever come across one because even a mirror could distort your features enough to make you unrecognizable, but he never expected to have the _chance!_ He cocked his head to the side while observing his face, more uncomfortable with his own gaze staring back at him as he thought he would be. 

Akira’s eyes were bigger than he thought they already were, but his glasses and hair did a pretty good job of minimizing them. It seems Ryuji hasn’t caught on that he didn’t need his glasses to see yet either, which was a conversation he was dreading to hopelessly defend himself through. The teasing material..!

It was quiet, other than the whir of coffee machines in the cafe below and the occasional ‘ _move your head to the left_ ’, just to see what a different angle looked like. 

Ryuji eventually sighed and let himself fall back onto the mattress, wearily rubbing his eyes. Akira followed suit; they were a couple of feet away from each other, staring at the dusty beams of the attic ceiling together. 

“It’s confirmed,” Akira said to break the silence, “My left side is definitely my better side.” 

Ryuji grazed his fingertips over his left cheek, as if he could feel if Akira was right or not. “This is so effin’ weird, man.” 

A few moments passed. Akira already grew to despise the out-of-body feeling he couldn’t seem to get used to, not when he was near passing out on the Monabus on their way out of Mementos, and not when they were settled in LeBlanc’s attic for the meeting.

“Okay, so rules,” Ryuji remembered, sitting back up in sudden thought. Akira got himself comfortable on his back, but had the energy to quirk an eyebrow. 

“Rules?”

“Yeah, _rules_. Like… don’t look at my dick?”

Akira hadn’t even thought about it, having been too overwhelmed with the concept of literally being in the body of his best friend to think about the dick _attached_ to that body. 

Now that it was in the air though, he did realize how it would cause… certain problems. The first thing that came to mind was excusable considering he was a teenager with perfectly intact, active hormones, _thank you_ , but the second happened to be what using the bathroom would entail. 

“Ryuji, have you been thinking about my dick this entire time?” he chose to tease instead. Ryuji grew predictably flustered, as he usually did whenever Akira decided to mess with him. 

“Sh-shuddup! It’s a valid concern!” 

It was, when Akira thought about it, but he wouldn’t let Ryuji know. He reached up towards his face to nudge his glasses up his nose, but found himself aimlessly smacking himself in the face. Right, he wasn’t wearing them. 

Speaking of…

“Oh, dude, I’ve always wondered what it was like to need glasses,” Ryuji said, and pulled them off of his face. Akira prepared himself for the inevitable realization. 

“There’s _no_ effin’ way these are fake!” It sounded so, so wrong in his voice. 

Ryuji wildly whipped his head around, holding the glasses at a distance in his hands while he squinted at various objects in the room. No matter how hard he would cock his head to the side and force his vision to go blurry, everything around him would remain clear in the distance when he opened them up normally. 

“Fashion glasses, really?”

Akira nervously laughed, “I needed to look innocent in the city!” 

It was half-true. Going into Tokyo, he knew that if he was going to need to lay low and ride out his probation as the best student he could be to spite the circumstances. However, he considered it quite ironic as well. Before he had ever acquired the mask of Arsene, he found the glasses served as a mask of their own purpose. Regardless of if he thought his eyes were too big and his nose was a little small, the glasses always balanced him out proportionally enough. 

He would rather have Shujin thought he was just a nerd, if Kamoshida hadn’t already exposed and exaggerated his record to the student population. 

“You look great without ‘em, you know,” Ryuji said, and folded the glasses onto the makeshift crate next to the bed that Akira used as a night stand. 

“Any other rules?” Akira decided to progress the conversation instead. 

They continued to discuss their various routines, particularly what they were going to do in the period before the Hawaii trip that they would be going to school. At school Akira was used to hiding Morgana in his desk, and as skillfully he thought he did it, he’s heard a couple of people sitting in the desks behind him comment on it under their breath to each other the first couple of times. They were real ones for never snitching. 

At that point, he knew it would have raised more questions if he _didn’t_ have Morgana with him, so Ryuji was stuck with the cat for a week. It would have worked out anyways because Akira also had the fortune of having teachers who loved to pick on him with ridiculous questions he was somehow expected to know, and Morgana helped him through them whenever he could. God knows Ryuji would need it. 

They would have to meet up with each other pretty often as well. Neither minded, they spent a ton of time together as it was, but the more time they were together meant less time that either had to interact with their counterparts at home. 

“I’ve… never met your mom before,” Akira realized, especially when it dawned on him that it would be the first time in a while that he’d be interacting with a motherly figure in general. 

Ryuji’s eyes widened at the fact and he sputtered out, “Oh shit, you gotta call her and let her know you’re sleeping over! Or, I’m sleeping over-- nevermind! I can’t believe I forgot.”

Akira pulled out the phone that was in his pocket and thought to ask for the password, but found his thumbprint unlocked it. His screen brightened with the two missed calls he had from **Mom** , and he automatically called her back instead of mulling over what he would need to say to pass as Ryuji. 

She picked up the phone after two dial tones, not wasting a moment to begin talking. “Ryuji! Did your phone die? I was getting a little worried.”

God, her voice sounded so sweet instead of being too angry, Akira could have cried. His own parents hadn’t bothered to call him from home yet. 

She was on speaker so Ryuji could listen too, but he didn’t notice Akira’s initial pause. 

“Oh, sorry m-mom..?” Ryuji silently groaned at Akira’s not at _all_ suspicious tone. “My phone was off and I didn’t realize. I was wondering if I could…”

Ryuji began to aggressively wave his hands at him, urging him to stop his train of thought, but Akira panickingly swatted him away; He was too far gone to change it mid-sentence. “I was wondering if I could spend the night at Akira’s, I got everything I need.”

“Oh, of course you can. You’ve never asked before though, everything alright?” she laughed on the line, but she could be heard shuffling around in what Akira presumed was their apartment. “I need to do some laundry right now, so I’ll talk to you more tomorrow. I want you home by three though, you need to have your things all ready for school on Thursday.”

“O-Okay, I will,” Akira wearily responded. 

“I won’t hold you anymore, I know you’re probably itching to play your games with Kurusu-kun. Good night, I love you!”

But Akira’s mouth went dry. He wanted to respond, he really did, but he needed to absorb the “I love you” for a second. In his hesitation, Ryuji grabbed the phone and abruptly ended the call, choosing to text her himself that his finger slipped and yes, he loved her too. 

“You alright?” he asked when he sent off the text and threw his phone on the bed. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just panicked,” Akira answered, albeit not very convincingly. Ryuji wasn’t going to push him further. 

He yawned and stretched his hands over his head. Mementos always took a toll on him, but the emotional rollercoaster of the day added onto it by tenfold. They had the rest of the day tomorrow to discuss more of their situation, and Ryuji figured they should just go to sleep. 

Until…

“Shit.”

With the dread that dawned on Ryuji’s face, Akira thought he just witnessed a murder. “What, what is it?”

“I gotta pee.”

Ryuji’s voice cracked, but Akira didn’t blame him. They only briefly acknowledged that they were both human beings that happened to have dicks attached to them, but dudes with dicks also needed to _aim_. 

“I guess, just, don’t… look?” Akira tried, but his throat was still dry. “And don’t touch? But also aim… it can’t be that hard!”

Ryuji rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t prove that otherwise. He shuffled downstairs into the cafe bathroom, looking to get it over with, and Akira only laughed behind him, 

He stopped in front of the mirror before he conducted his business, though. He couldn’t ignore he was in Akira’s body especially when he was speaking with his voice, but there were fleeting moments where he’d get mildly comfortable, only to look over at himself and it all be ruined. He wondered if it was a side effect, the lodge in his gut. 

Ryuji finally got the chance to look at Akira, really stare at him, like he’d always wanted to. He leaned into the mirror and examined Akira’s eyes to see how silver they were since they were usually obscured with his glasses. He took the opportunity to push Akira's fringe off of his forehead and noticed that his forehead was considerably paler than the rest of his face, especially having been to the beach the day before. 

Perfect blackmail material, if anything. He’d have to snap a few pictures

Ryuji noticed how loose Akira’s clothes were on his body as well. Akira always wore clothes that looked to be a little too big, but they barely touched his actual body with how they hung off his shoulders. Ryuji knew Akira was pretty fit in a lean, anime protagonist type of way (again… they were at the beach, and Ryuji had eyes), but he couldn’t imagine why Akira would want to hide it. 

Akira’s body was considerably colder too somehow. Ryuji didn’t know how he could tell, but he assumed there was a reason why Akira was always seen wearing long sleeves. He, on the other hand, got warmed up way too quickly and had his wardrobe consist of mostly short sleeved or cutoff shirts for that exact reason. Even the Shujin uniform was suffocating at times. 

“You better not be looking at my dick right now!” Akira yelled from the attic, and Ryuji realized how long he was taking. 

“Shuddup!” he opted to yell, and went on with the reason why he was in the bathroom. He stood in front of the toilet and hesitated with the button on Akira’s pants, psyching himself up to get over with peeing with as little contact with Akira’s dick as he could manage. 

He stared up at the ceiling and took a gamble with the approximation of his aim, but was able to get the job done. Hastily zipping himself back up and washing his hands, he all but ran out of the bathroom and hopped back upstairs. 

“You took a suspiciously long time in there.” His own gaze peered over at him from where Akira was lying down on his bed with his phone in hand. 

Ryuji dropped down next to him and punched him in the arm, which he thought was warranted, but it freaked him out to see his own face contort in surprise at it. ”It’s weird lookin’ at you in the mirror.”

Akira got up and brushed his hands on his pants. “We’ll see about weird, ‘Yuji,” he said, and went to the bathroom himself. Ryuji scoffed and shook his head from behind him.

Of course, Akira found it unsettling to stare at Ryuji from the perspective of his own eyes as well, how couldn’t he? He leaned over the sink so to count every eyelash Ryuji had, but instead noticed how starkly chocolate brown his pupils were in the mirror. He’d caught glaces at Ryuji when the light hit his face just right and made his eyes glow in honey-suckle and caramel candy, but he never had the chance to stare as long as he would have liked. 

In the shitty bathroom light of LeBlanc, Akira found he liked how dark Ryuji’s eyes could get too. It was cheesy, but there were dark flakes spread amongst the light ones and Akira could have looked at them all day long. 

And, shockingly enough, Akira noticed the little freckles Ryuji had sprinkled over his nose and cheeks. They were light and barely there, probably exposed from the sun that they got the day before, and Akira’s heart panged. God, what he would have done to have been able to see them through his own eyes, just to be as close to Ryuji as he was in the mirror.

“It’s effin’ weird, right?!” Ryuji yelled, and Akira realized he was right. He didn’t know how much time had passed with him just staring at himself in a different manner that time, but he would have had all the time in the world in the next seven days to do it when Ryuji _wasn’t_ waiting on him upstairs. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Akira responded, and went on with his business similarly to Ryuji, with his gaze at the ceiling and willfully ignoring whatever contact he had with his fingertips and Ryuji’s… 

He flushed, washed his hands, and grumbled his way upstairs. “Fine, it was a _little_ weird looking at myself in the mirror.”

“Told ya!” Ryuji responded smugly, but Akira rolled his eyes as they eventually got themselves settled for bed. They spoke for longer than they thought they would, and Akira threw Ryuji some of his clothes to sleep in and it took five minutes of arguing over who would get to sleep on the bed. 

(It also took 13 rounds of rock, paper, scissors and repeated accusations of cheating before it was decided that Ryuji would sleep on the bed). 

Ryuji got himself settled on top of the mattress, seeing no need for a blanket as it was already hot enough. He liked how comfortable Akira’s clothes felt on him, but he vaguely wished he could have been wearing them in his body on another occasion. Regardless, he tried to force his mind to calm the eff down and try sleeping, but he was too high-strung to relax. 

“Can you not sleep either?” Akira asked. Geez, it was still unnerving hearing his own voice ask him. 

“Nah, not at all.” 

Ryuji already ran down the basics of how Akira would interact with his mom, and vice versa with Ryuji and Sojiro. He was still nervous thinking about how he’d survive class since Akira was in a higher homeroom in their grade with Ann (how Ann got there, he didn’t know), and Akira was admittedly pretty smart, higher than the level he was at. There was that, along with how he’d act around Sojiro… Would he have to drink coffee too?! 

Wait, would Akira’s taste buds like the coffee, though? Would his body need it in the morning to survive, or would Ryuji’s conscious change that… Gah, it was too confusing. 

“‘Yuji?” Akira barely whispered. Ryuji looked over at his form, being vaguely comforted by not seeing himself but rather the silhouette of a body he could have imagined to be Akira’s if it wasn’t for the voice. They were the same height, so imagining wouldn’t have been too difficult. 

“Yeah?”

“We’ll switch back, right?” His voice was gentle, but it was obvious he was more anxious than he was letting on. Typical of their leader, putting on a mask in front of the others. He wouldn't let them know it if he was nervous, not when they were already anxious enough. 

“'Course we will,” Ryuji said, wondering if it was more of a confirmation for himself or reassurance for Akira. “I’ll bet on it.” 

Ryuji saw Akira turn over to his side to face him. “Betting on our consciousness unscrambling? You’re taking me out to ramen after all this if you’re right.” 

Ryuji quietly laughed. “Of course I’m right, I just gotta get the money for ramen.”

“It’s a deal,” Akira muttered. He was aware he was betting on whether or not they would be able to return to normal in seven days time, but it was silly enough to unclench the nerves in his heart. Of course he wanted to switch back, but ramen as a celebration on top of it was even better. 

It took a while, but soon their breathing slowed and their thoughts grew too fuzzy to remain awake, though anxiety continued to creep up their chests. Ryuji wondered if it would ever stop during the remainder of their seven days, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MMMMMM IT BEGINS. i have. so much planned for this fic. 20K words r already written for this but thats like a third of what i have in my notes so... be prepared. i wanna have long updates too so im expecting to have a good amount out every week <3  
> mwahaha i managed to fit this into the story pretty well i think but it was a close one not gonna lie the timing was a little too convenient especially since i wanted 7 days for them to be switched anyway  
> i update every sunday!  
> follow me on twitter for upload/update announcements *3* i have other fics planned for pegoryu and hopefully other fandoms/ships so i always tweet out a link when it's out !! also dm me if u dont wanna comment i luv new friends


	3. Photo Wall

Akira fumbled with the set of keys Ryuji had on the busy keychain he carried around, wondering why the hell he had so many damn keys. Where was Ryuji even going that warranted the amount? That was regardless of the point, but Akira’s nerves already caused him to drop them twice, each with a loud clang in the hallway where Ryuji’s apartment was. 

He couldn’t help the shaking of his hands. His entire way home, he recited the train lines Ryuji had to take home like a mantra in his head in fear of forgetting it, but every step he took he was convinced someone would somehow figure him out and say, “Wait, you’re not Sakamoto-kun! You’re his best friend trapped in his body, which happened in a way that is literally unexplainable to someone who hasn’t witnessed it!”

Yeah, Akira was jumpy. 

He finally got the right key through the lock and tentatively opened the door. He’d been in the apartment building before, what with Ryuji’s ridiculous idea of “Operation Maidwatch”. However, at the time he was too focused on how the hell he got himself in the situation of being in an empty apartment with two of his friends, waiting on a maid service they were too young for, to really pay attention to the layout of the apartment. 

Besides, Ryuji’s apartment was furnished anyway, so he had even less of a grasp of what it looked like when it wasn’t just empty floors and blank walls. 

Ryuji did his best explaining it at LeBlanc, including his description with a crudely drawn layout on a piece of notebook paper for reference, but Akira couldn’t help but be nervous anyway. He thumbed the folded up paper in his pocket as if it would help him out, but his worst fear was just that he would slip up and ask where the bathroom was in an apartment that he was supposed to have lived in for the majority of his life. 

The entrance was already so homely, and Akira wondered what that meant for the rest of the space. He recognized the busted up pair of sneakers Ryuji alternated through with the ones he was wearing next to the door, as well as a couple of pairs of heels that were definitely not Ryuji’s, all under the hooks on the wall that hung Ryuji’s large purple hoodie and a worn looking feminine coat next to it. 

“I-I’m home!” Akira remembered to say, and neatly placed his sneakers next to the pair there. Wait, would Ryuji have made them neat? He never said so. Did it even matter? 

Akira was overthinking. 

He heard activity from inside, where he assumed the kitchen was based off of the loud whirring of an oven fan and sizzling of whatever was being made. He took a final deep breath and stepped into the space he tried his best to familiarize himself with through a shitty diagram and Ryuji's attempt at a description. 

He was immediately greeted with the makeshift living room. Makeshift, because it connected with the kitchen, that was to the right of the little space that contained just a couch and a TV on a scratched up TV stand, separated by a crowded island. Regardless of the (lack of) space, it was so homely and obviously lived comfortably in, more so than Akira had ever remembered his own house in the country being. There was a large space behind the couch, met with a wall that contained a doorway on the left and otherwise was covered in various, colorful picture frames. 

Ryuji’s mom, he recalled her name being Aiko, turned around at the sound of his presence. God, she was beautiful, Akira had heard as much from Ryuji himself. She was considerably shorter than him, but her long black hair and sharp features made her look like a force to be reckoned with regardless of stature. 

“Hi, hon!” Aiko smiled. Akira was standing lamely in the entrance, but jerked back into reality when he slipped on the slippers that Ryuji said he wore around the apartment. 

“Hey,” he said, equally as lame, unsure of where exactly he should go. Ryuji said he was pretty affectionate with his mom, but never fully explained what that meant (probably out of embarrassment for admitting it. Akira thought it was cute). Should he have gone over to see what she was making, or make a beeline for Ryuji’s room..?

“Did you eat at the cafe? I’m making lunch for work right now if you’d like some.” Aiko was turned back around and too busy with chopping up some vegetables next to the boiling pot on the stove to notice the breath of relief Akira released. 

“Uh, yeah, I had some of So-- Boss’s curry, so I’m not really hungry. Th-thanks, though.” 

He couldn’t suppress the hesitation in his voice. Akira would have handled meeting Ryuji’s mom with no problem in any other circumstance, but this was an outlier he never would have imagined having to deal with. 

“I’ll leave some for dinner, then. Did you have fun at Kurusu’s? I know you love going to the cafe.”

Akira figured it would be a safe bet to shuffle behind the couch and towards the wall full of photos, incessant curiosity too strong for him not to. “Yeah, it was fun. Mostly played video games.”

He leaned onto the back of couch while he examined the pictures. He knew it would have been odd for Ryuji to be staring at them if he lived there long enough to have probably memorized them by then, but it left his mind in the moment. 

The frames were largely mismatched but every one was occupied by a picture of a grinning Ryuji, sometimes with Aiko but mostly of him alone. No dad in sight, by the looks of it. 

Instead, they followed some chronological order, as Akira gazed at a picture of what looked like Ryuji in primary school, smiling a toothy grin (one missing in the front) and holding up a medal, probably from their Sports Day. As they progressed to the left, there was a picture that stood out of Ryuji wearing an uncomfortable looking polo, eye catching because he looked considerably shorter and was probably in middle school, but Aiko was at his side, matching the wide smile he adorned. 

Akira’s eyes reached the end of the frames. There was a picture larger than the rest, and it was glossy enough behind the glass that it looked like it was cut out of a magazine. It was of Ryuji looking focused in the signature start up running position on a track. It must have been around sunset when it was taken: orange light illuminated the side of Ryuji’s face where the sun hit, but the rest of his expression was visible and made for a pretty composition even Yusuke might have approved of. 

His uniform hugged his shoulders tightly (from what little of them showed in the picture), but Akira couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ryuji’s face. It was concentrated, with his brows taut and eyes looking forward, but there was also a slight smirk in his mouth that was more shadow than substance. Ryuji knew, no matter who was on that track, he was going to leave a winner with a medal to prove it. 

Akira recalled Ann mentioning Ryuji’s feature in the school magazine the year prior. 

“Ryuji? You alright?” he heard Aiko say, which took him out of his moment of enamouration. Right, _he_ was Ryuji. 

“Yeah, yeah, just… going down memory lane!” His voice was falsely positive to make up for zoning out, but instead of reassuring Aiko, it brought concern to her face. 

“Are you missing it? We can talk about it, if you want.”

Akira had gotten himself into a hole. “Oh, no, nothing like that, it’s fine! I’ll just… head to my room.”

Aiko lowered her head in a piercing gaze, Akira wasn’t convincing at all. “Alright, but we’ll talk later. Make sure you get everything ready for school tomorrow!”

With the dismissal, Akira scurried through the doorway and into the hallway Ryuji told him lead to the two bedrooms and bathroom of the apartment. He knew Ryuji’s room was at the end of the hallway and rushed over, not relaxing until he was inside and closed the door behind him. 

Well, it could have gone worse. 

Akira couldn’t stop thinking about the picture, but finally calmed down enough to observe Ryuji’s room. 

It was traditional, and larger than Akira expected with how much Ryuji insisted it was tiny, but not by any comparison. A twin bed was pushed against the back wall, taking up three-fourths of the space there. In front of Akira was a small table in the middle of the floor that was covered in a variety of magazines, papers, and abandoned stationary, and to the left were two sliding doors he assumed lead to a closet. 

Every inch of space that could have been exposed on the walls was covered in posters, ranging from large posters of (raunchy) video game covers that Ryuji enjoyed, or the pullout car spreads most likely found in the stack of magazines he kept. More noticeably, the wall next to his bed that also had a window high up above it was plastered in 4x6 pictures that looked like Ryuji took them himself. 

Akira dropped Ryuji’s bag on whatever space of floor he could find that didn’t have clothes thrown on it and moved to get a closer look at the pictures. 

The ones pasted up right next to the bed were of… them. The Phantom Thieves hanging out, playing pool, and the occasional sneaky flick during meetings. They were all placed in organized rectangles, even if some were over lapping, and Akira noticed the spare space Ryuji left, presumably for more pictures. The most recent was a shot of all them at the beach, huddled under the umbrella they brought. It was taken from behind, most likely when no one was looking, but it had captured the joy of everyone relaxing and eating snacks. 

Ryuji sent the occasional picture to the groupchat of notable moments whenever they hung out, but this was unexpected. When had he gotten the time to print out the picture of the beach, anyway? 

Akira pretended to not notice the various pictures of just the two of them hanging out together, and the occasional candid Akira. He chose to ignore how the thought of Ryuji wanting to print out those memories clutched at his heart, too. 

Akira stepped back to take a look at the older pictures, whose gloss had lost their shine a while ago, but there were a few places where the pictures had been taken out. 

And notably, there hadn’t seemed to be a single picture from Ryuji’s track days. 

Regardless, the ones that had survived the wall also consisted of random selfies with his mom, some looking to be when Ryuji was way younger. There was also the occasional sunset, or cloudy sky, or cool looking cafe drinks, but it was nothing to scoff at. Yusuke might have been critical, but Akira noted just how much attention Ryuji paid to preserving memories. 

Most memories, anyway. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. They had decided to use their own phones instead of fiddling with the others, and just added in the new thumbprints to their password bank. 

Right on time. 

**ryuji** : have you survived the journey to my apartment?

**Akira** : Fought a dragon on the way but generally unscuffed

**Akira** : Your mom is super nice I almost had a heart attack

**ryuji** : you didn’t choke or anything though, right?

**Akira** : It could have gone worse, but she said she wants to talk later. Forgot how to act like a normal human being. Sorry

**Akira** : Also, were you ever gonna mention this amazing photo wall you have? I could have posed for some of these 

**ryuji** : oh shit i forgot about that

**ryuji** : my bad

**ryuji** : also, talks with mom. Uh

**ryuji** : they get emotional sometimes. try to avoid it if you can?

**Akira** : Emotional? What am I getting myself into?

**ryuji** : nothin but i can’t really describe them. say you’re on a call with me or something

**Akira** : I’ll try but I gotta leave the room at some point for sustenance. Will report back in T-minus 3 hours

**ryuji** : youre so weird man

**ryuji** : wait, arent you gonna ask me how im doing?!

**Akira** : There isn’t much to do in the attic except go crazy with Morgana there, I’m assuming you’re fine. Take my uniform to the laundromat!

**ryuji** : fine, fine. see ya!

Akira set the phone down on the nightstand next to his bed and took the next hour to unashamedly look through Ryuji’s room. He didn’t exactly touch anything, but observed every detail of how he ran things in there, from the clothes strewn on the ground to the summer homework he didn’t do that was collecting dust on his table. 

It was insane to think how much more he had learned about Ryuji in such a short time, just from his little apartment. 

Akira felt bad; LeBlanc’s attic was unassuming and he imagined Ryuji was losing his mind with nothing interesting to look at. Akira cleaned as much as he could there, covered the junk behind the stairs with tarp he found previously folded up on the shelf, but incessant dust continued to find a way to float through the air. 

Akira did take the liberty of cleaning up Ryuji’s room, though. He wouldn’t rustle through his belongings but carefully picked up the clothes thrown around and tossed them into the neglected laundry hamper he found hidden in the closet. It was safe to assume all of them needed a good washing, anyway. 

It was too hot to open the window, but Akira utilized the mini fan in the corner of the room well and enjoyed what little light streamed through the window. At least putting the clothes away feigned some order of cleanliness, but Akira itched to clean the rest of it. It was in his nature, especially wanting to be tip top so as to not inconvenience Sojiro with a dirty room when he was already generous enough to offer an entire attic. 

Akira gave in and continued his organization, focusing his attention on piling all of Ryuji’s magazines together and putting them on a shelf next to the bed, along with placing all of the loose papers in a neat pile and wondering if he should do the homework Ryuji hadn’t done. 

No, that was stupid, it was Ryuji’s fault he hadn’t done it and it was Ryuji’s body who would suffer the consequences. Even if they were bros… 

Akira put it in the back of his mind. Maybe he’d have the time. 

He moved onto the closet, but it was even more of a disaster compared to the rest of the room. Maybe it was a job he’d have to spread out for the next seven days. He wouldn’t have anything better to do in the room, anyways. 

“Ryuji, c’mere!” Aiko called from the living room. 

Shit. 

“Uh, alright!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u can google ryuji's room and itll show you what it generally looks like! i took a little liberty with the posters and pictures he has though.  
> i left it at a little bit of a cliffhanger! but next chapter is definitely gonna make it worth it ;0 ive said it a million times and ill say it again-- im so incredibly excited for this fic and i hope y'all are enjoying what's here, we're gonna be getting into actual plot coming chapters  
> i update every sunday! this is my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing)!!


	4. I'll Think About It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter, aiko called akira out to talk in the living room!

Akira didn’t have time to slap himself in the face for not thinking up an excuse to avoid talking to Aiko, and instead dragged himself out of the room and through the hallway. 

Aiko was facing away from him on the couch, comfortably settled in the middle while the TV ran an old looking soap opera. She wasn’t paying much attention to it because upon hearing Akira’s presence in the doorway, she turned around and beckoned him onto the couch. 

Akira hesitated, but forced himself to walk around the couch and sit on the end, a considerable distance from Aiko. 

“Are you sure you're okay? You’ve been acting weird ever since you came home, did you and Kurusu have a fight?”

Akira willed himself to actually look at her. She had Ryuji’s nose for sure, but her eyes were sharp where his weren't and were darker, rivaling his light brown pupils. Most noticeably, she was made up of tired lines around her mouth and forehead and weary looking eyebags that dulled her face. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her nurse scrubs were still on as well. 

“See, you’re zoning out on me!” Aiko smiled, and Akira realized he was doing it again. How was he supposed to survive here?

“No, I’m okay! Just… tired.” 

God, Akira might as well have told her she wasn’t really talking to her son. 

Aiko raised an amusing brow, and opened her arms. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, fine, but you know the drill! C’mere.” She gestured towards her chest and Akira assumed the worst for whatever reason, but she had to manually pull his arm so that Akira’s head was thrown into the crook of her neck. 

He laid limp for a moment, suppressing the instinct of jumping away in favor for forcing his heart to calm the fuck down. Aiko wrapped one arm around his arm and torso, beckoning the rest of Ryuji’s body to settle on her side and rested her cheek on the top of his head while her other hand played with his hair. 

“We should probably redye your roots soon. Sorry I’ve been too busy to do it before the semester started,” Aiko muttered in a soothing voice, but Akira was too far gone to properly respond. 

God, he knew he was touch starved, but he wondered if Ryuji regularly experienced the feeling of electricity passing through him whenever he touched someone. Maybe it was just Akira. 

Was this what Ryuji meant by “getting emotional”?

Akira closed his eyes and relaxed into the embrace, though. He didn’t move his arms, but a hand comfortingly running through his now-short hair was enough to numb his entire sense of being while simultaneously enhancing every brush on his body. 

This was “the drill”? Akira would have thought to tease Ryuji about it later if he wasn’t so relaxed that he momentarily forgot that it wasn’t _his_ body receiving the comfort. He forgot about the out-of-body sensation he couldn’t shake, even if it was temporary, but in a way he felt guilty about _his_ conscious being the one to experience it. 

Akira wouldn’t have been able to say when the tears began leaking out of his eyes, though. 

He wasn’t upset by any means, but he was overwhelmed. The shock of being in his best friend's body, knowing it would put a dent in the work he was so used to constantly doing, and how relieving it felt just to be _held_. 

He wasn’t Akira anymore, expected to fund the entirety of the Phantom Thieves by his damn self, to lead them on missions where he was forced to remember everything about them-- their Persona moves and abilities and weaknesses-- just to lead the fight. He wasn’t Joker, who watched his friends get completely thrown to the ground and knocked out by shadows dozens of times, only to do his best to give orders and try to revive them while they were on the brink of death. 

Now, he was Ryuji. 

He didn’t know a whole lot of Ryuji’s past, even with the pieces he put together, but at the moment he was just Ryuji with an affectionate mom, who wanted to hold him and continued to run her hands through his shitty bleached hair while he cried into her shoulder. 

It must have been an occurrence that happened often with how patient she was with him. 

“Just cry it out, Ryuji... You always keep things bottled up ‘til you break down like this,” she muttered, which was enough to elicit a weak laugh from Akira. God, she had no idea. 

It dawned on Akira that Ryuji was the same, albeit it must have been more often. 

“Sorry,” Akira murmured, he felt he had to for some reason. 

“You and your apologizing,” Aiko said with an endearing smile. 

Truthfully, Akira couldn’t remember the last time he cried. Following his arrest and following months he spent in a probationary cell awaiting his fate in a trial, he couldn’t remember shedding a single tear. The details were blurry as it was, but Akira could only remember the feeling of waiting. Waiting, staring at a wall, getting questioned without giving a single answer deemed satisfactory by the officer questioning him. It was all the same, and he lost track of the days fairly quickly thereafter. 

Maybe it was the love radiating off of Aiko. It was misplaced, but Akira had never felt truly comfortable being vulnerable until then. Not alone in LeBlanc’s attic, and definitely not when Morgana made his residence there either. 

He out-cried himself after a while, though he had no real concept of how much time had passed. Regardless of the fact, Aiko never ceased her relaxing graze on his back or arms. 

“Feel better?” she asked, it wasn’t patronizing at all. Akira thought it wasn’t possible for her to have a drop of ill intent in her being. 

Akira nodded at her question and finally pulled away from Aiko’s motherly embrace. He hadn’t remembered when he had become so sore, or when he curled up in on himself, but he stretched his arms and legs out and weakly wiped at the drying tears on his face. 

“Have you… ever thought of going back? To real track I mean, not just running with Kurusu, even though I know you enjoy it,” Aiko’s voice grew quieter. This was a conversation they must have had before. “The way you were just looking at that picture… I was so proud when you brought that magazine home, bringing two because you knew I wanted one…”

She weakly laughed. The lines of age really settled into her face now, and Akira could see with a pang in his heart just how exhausted she looked. “You’ve always been so energetic, but track always got that energy outta you. You’ve never cried twice in a week, and I-I _know_ you don’t like me pointing it out, but running was the only thing that… prevents that.”

Akira couldn’t stand to see her so crestfallen and he had just met her. If it was Ryuji in his place, he doubted it would have even been brought up if Akira hadn’t been so transparent and stared at the old track picture, but he felt his heart constrict at Aiko’s hopeful expression. 

“I’ll think about it,” Akira opted for, but tried to inject as much hope into his own voice as well. Maybe he would be able to convince Ryuji later. 

It was evident Ryuji had never given a positive response before; Aiko’s face brightened up just at the mere possibility of consideration. She placed a kiss on Akira’s cheek and pushed herself up off of the couch to stride to the kitchen, presumably to reheat the food she was making earlier for him. 

Akira pretended not to notice the extra pep in her movements as she bustled around the small kitchen with more life than what little of her he'd seen. Instead, he leaned back into one of the many throw pillows on the couch and wondered if he could get used to having someone like Aiko around for a week. 

He’d just need to survive without arising more suspicion around his actions than he already had, but he had a feeling his outburst had wiped the slate clean. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know updates aren't long, but this is the best i can do while writing other things and having my own things to do! work, some things for school, u know how it is. nevertheless i hope everyone is enjoying it <3  
> follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing)!


	5. Yongen's Too Small for the Both of Us

Ryuji didn’t know if he was faring better or worse than how he imagined Akira was doing. He had the resolve to text him an hour after he left, half after when he should have made it to his apartment, but only got exposed for the dorky photowall he liked to maintain and somehow thought Akira wouldn’t notice.

It was only fair, in a way. He learned the truth about Akira’s fashion glasses, which he didn’t bother to wear around the attic, and Akira was probably looking at all the sneaky pictures he’d gotten of the team. 

Hopefully he wouldn’t ask about the suspicious spaces where groups of pictures were taken down. 

Ryuji didn’t exactly know where to start with the attic. He would have cleaned his own room if he was aware that he’d have someone else staying there for a week, but he had a nagging feeling Akira would take the liberty of doing some organization himself. 

Akira’s residence was so open-spaced, but the dust that incessantly paraded through the hazy air made it suffocating. Ryuji relaxed on the edge of Akira’s bed, and with a little observation he realized it was just barely a futon placed on top of a thin foam mattress, which was elevated by a bunch of empty wooden fruit crates (a little counterproductive, somehow). He watched the particles of dust dance through the air, turned a little more soft when the light slanting in through the large windows turned them into light, golden flakes. 

Morgana lazily settled himself onto the banister of the staircase, resting his head on his paws with a yawn. “Futaba stayed up for the majority of the night on her computer and I couldn’t sleep with all the noise she was making…”

One of Ryuji's concerns was how he’d be able to stand Morgana for the week since Akira couldn’t take him to his no-pets-allowed apartment building, and Sojiro didn’t like having the cat at the house for more than a couple of days because of the hair he couldn’t help but shed around. However, it seemed like Morgana was too tired to tease Ryuji as he usually did, but he wondered if that was because he felt pity for their situation.

Well, Ryuji couldn’t complain. If he was forced to hang out with Morgana while Akira had the pleasure of hanging out with his mom for the entire week, he could stand a little bit of pity to lessen the punishment. 

The problem was that Ryuji was too energetic for his own good. Even in Akira’s aloof body, he was itching to get up and do something, though Morgana warned him against going out while Sojiro had customers in the cafe. His only agenda for the day was to get Akira’s uniform cleaned at the laundry machines he knew were hidden somewhere amongst the narrow streets of Yongen-Jaya, but he would have to wait until the evening to do so anyway. 

Akira warned him against exploring Yongen during the day. He had already gotten himself decently orientated with the locals, enough that he couldn’t have explained all of the different residents and their quirks to Ryuji even if they had more than a few hours to talk about it. 

Ryuji figured he could be nice enough to Morgana and let him nap for a little before annoying him. Instead, he began his trek around the attic to observe the scarce attempt at decoration Akira had done. 

He stopped in front of the shelf next to the bed. How he hadn’t noticed the fake ramen bowl he had gifted Akira sitting proudly at the center of the shelf, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. 

Until he noticed the only other gift on the shelf was a small stuffed dolphin in the top left corner. He knew it wasn’t that serious, but it didn’t seem like a gift any of the members would give Akira. Ryuji knew he was being irrational thinking too in-depth about it, but he held a quiet sort of pride in knowing Akira would display his gift, as shitty as it was. 

Of course Akira had to have had other friends! He was too cool not to, but… still, Ryuji couldn’t have helped but let his mind dwell on the possibilities a little longer. 

No, no, it was no use thinking about it. Ryuji moved on to the plant Akira liked to upkeep, it’s green leaves standing tall. Shit, Akira never told him what it’s watering habits were… he knew his mom liked to maintain some small plants on the windowsill in her room, but he never bothered to memorize how often they needed to be watered. Why couldn’t they just be watered once a day and live? Damn plants being so complicated too…

Akira kept all of his clothes in a cardboard box next to the couch on the opposite wall. He mentioned that it’s all his parents sent him from home when he moved into LeBlanc but picking through it, Ryuji realized how little there was. He supposed it was to be expected, what with Akira spending most of his money on Phantom Thief gear instead of thinking about clothes…

Ryuji felt guilty as it was, but it worsened when he thought about just how much work went into being their leader. In the end, he could barely lead a track team when given the opportunity, so what said he wouldn’t have done the same with the team? He could barely imagine the weight on Akira’s shoulders. 

Half of the clothes in the box were scarily outdated in style as well, though it wasn’t unexpected for a country boy’s closet. Ryuji wasn’t the most fashion forward (...obviously), but he stuck to a style he liked when he could pick out various pieces at a thrift store. It was no wonder Akira regularly rewore the same few outfits he had as if he thought no one would notice. Ryuji doubted the team had, but how  couldn’t  _he_? He wasn’t the most observant of the bunch, but when it came to Akira…

He sighed and slotted the box back into its place. He had some pocket money back at the apartment, and they had talked about hanging out there for one of their seven days so that “Akira” could meet his mom. 

There would be no better time to grab the money and head out to a thrift store himself to find some extra things for Akira, even though he didn’t have a full grasp of his fashion sense. He couldn’t place it when he assumed Akira only wore the most normal looking clothes he owned, at least by Tokyo’s standards, but he always wore his uniform very sharply… maybe he was just attempting to follow the uniform code to not get into trouble with a teacher? Even then, he would have seen how flexible the rules were, so why would he continue to wear every piece of the uniform..? Did he prefer a put together style, or was it just habit? Could he ask..?

Geez, Ryuji was already going crazy. It was what happened whenever he was left alone with nothing to occupy himself with, and instead his mind ran in rampant circles of the most random of topics. He could have gone on, and on, and on, just mulling over the same thing until he exploded or answered whatever question he had in mind.

It wouldn’t be very productive to continue on the train of thought, eventually it would just turn into a spiral of Akira, Akira,  _ Akira _ , and god only knew how many sleepless nights he spent in that whirlpool already. 

Eventually, Ryuji shuffled over towards the tarp covered lump that existed behind the banister of the stairs. Even in meetings, he found his eyes dragging towards it, distracted in his curiosity to what could have possibly been hiding under it. It could have just been junk, but what type of junk couldn’t have just been thrown away?

Should he… No, he shouldn’t snoop. But, if he had the time, right? Morgana wasn’t awake to stop him either, but would he if he was awake? He didn’t know if he wanted to risk the wrath of kitty claws to wake him up and ask the cat, either. 

Eff it, he decided. If he was going to spend time in the attic as a resident, he was going to become well acquainted with it. 

Carefully, he pulled the tarp off of the pile, still scared straight of Boss yelling at him for noise. The risk didn’t do anything to satiate his curiosity, though, and he left the crumpling tarp in the middle of the room as quietly as he could manage.

He felt like the pirate the manifestation of his soul represented, finally landing his eyes on his treasure. 

A  _ bicycle.  _

Why would Akira try to hide a perfectly good bike under the tarp? By the looks of it, there was a large one and a smaller kiddie bike next to it, but he couldn’t imagine doing anything with the latter. Ryuji carefully tiptoed by the other boxes occupying the space surrounding it, suddenly apathetic towards whatever else he’d uncovered. 

“Oh, hell yeah,” he muttered under his breath when he finally got his hands on the handlebars. It took a little maneuvering, a lot of still moments with bated breath to hear if he’d disturbed the customers downstairs with the rustling, and whatever strength Akira had in his arms for Ryuji to finally pull it from the other piles of junk surrounding it. He paused every time his movement caused something else to threaten falling, but eventually had the bike lifted above the rest of the mess. 

Ryuji hovered the bike over the floor while he brought it to rest over the tarp, letting the kickstand prop it up while he took a step back to observe the damage. 

There was a reason why it was under the tarp, then. It was in desperate need of some handiwork, and luckily he had some experience fixing up bikes when his neighbors needed help with theirs. The bike must have been old to have warranted the dents it had in the handle bar and in other places of the framing. The chain was barely holding onto the chain ring, but it wasn’t the most important issue Ryuji saw with the bike that was on the forefront of his mind.

It was busted up, but not beyond saving just yet… Ryuji stretched his neck out; he was determined to make this “his project” for the time being. 

\-----

“You know, when you were up here all quiet I wasn’t expectin’ that _ this _ was what you were up to.” 

Ryuji wasn’t expecting it to be Sojiro’s voice to get him out of his headspace, but he snapped out of it to glance at the stairs where Sojiro leaned against the banister. It was still light out, but the days were always longer in the summer. Ryuji had no idea how much time had passed. 

“Oh, thanks Boss!” he said without thinking, but a questioning quirk of Sojiro’s eyebrow reminded him of his fuck up. Before he could sputter out a correction, Sojiro only sighed a signature, tired sigh. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m headin’ out for cigarettes, I’ll be back in a little bit.”

With that, Sojiro grumbled back down the stairs, leaving Ryuji to lean back and really observe his handiwork. He’d been too absorbed in fiddling with the separate areas of the bike to take a look at the big picture. 

Ryuji rolled his shoulders out. The bike was looking considerably better than when it had when he pulled it out, but there were a couple of missing parts he would need to seek out on his own, like new handle grips where the previous ones were falling apart, and possibly a new cog set if he couldn’t properly repair the ones that were cracking around the edges. 

His hands were noticeably scuffed up, covered in black dirt that was previously caking up the chains and wheels. Usually he would have wiped his hands down on his pants if he was wearing his own, but he figured if he was going to be heading over to the laundry machines to wash Akira’s uniform, he could throw the pants he was wearing with the load. 

Why did Akira wear pants anyway? As cold blooded as his body seemed to be, a pair of shorts would have done a decent job of lessening the oppressive heat that was cooped up in the attic. Maybe Ryuji could find a secondhand pair that would fit Akira. 

Morgana woke up at some point, but Ryuji couldn’t tell when exactly that was. 

“You know, I wouldn’t take you to be such a handyman, Aki--... No, Ryuji. Well, I wouldn’t expect this from you either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he replied, but was too satisfied with the progress he made to really care about the obvious implications behind Morgana’s tone. 

Thankfully, Morgana was too relaxed to bicker anyways. “We should head over to the laundry machines before they lock up the place. I don’t think Akira’s been in a while.”

Ryuji nodded and pushed himself up off the ground. While changing into clean clothes and putting the rest of the outfits Akira had worn into a drawstring bag for washing, he realized with a start that if he sat folded up for so long like he did in his own body, his leg would have been killing him just by standing up on it. 

He hated to admit it, but it was a relief not to have his leg on mind. Ryuji got used to the constant ache and was eventually able to put it on the back of his mind, but it was harder to ignore when the pain came in sudden sharp jabs along the surgery scar. He kept up face and paid it no heed for the sake of not worrying the team or his mom, but it was the first time that he could remember where he wasn’t forcing a grimace down his throat just to not bring attention to himself. 

“Ready to go?” Morgana asked, jumping into Akira’s bag that Ryuji threw over his shoulder. He remembered to grab the generic-brand detergent Akira kept by the stairs, and counted on Morgana for the directions to take him to the laundry machines. 

It was a dingy little space, but thankfully no one else was inside for Ryuji to force himself through a conversation with. He dropped Akira’s bag onto one of the machines, forgetting about Morgana’s presence inside. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he sheepishly apologized when Morgana peeked his head out to scowl but resumed with his business. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out the machine, and soon he had all of Akira’s clothes running in the wash. 

Now to wait. 

All of Yongen was a little backstreet town he felt like he could romanticize, even if the city square was only a couple minutes of walking distance. The sun had finally begun to set, which illuminated all the little quirks the buildings held in golden light, from the slithering cracks that adorned the coated plaster outside of a house, and even the loud whirring of the old laundry machine cleaning Akira’s clothes. It was close to kicking the bucket soon, but even Ryuji would make the fact seem like poetry just with how at ease it put him at. 

Other than the obvious discomforting fact that he would have rather been experiencing it as himself. 

“Mona, you sure…” Ryuji sighed, jumping up to sit on one of the unused machines. “You sure we’re gonna switch back? I know you’re goin’ off of what you’ve heard so it ain’t your fault, but what if we don’t?”

He couldn’t place the dislodge in his chest. 

Morgana grew a little somber, an odd look for his usual cheeky-cat expression. “You’re gonna have to fix how you speak when you get to school if you don’t want any unnecessary questions your way.”

He was right. 

“You’re avoidin’ the question.”

Even cats could sigh, apparently. “I know, but… I can’t be one hundred percent sure. Even with what memory I have left, it’s never… it’s never a guarantee.” 

Ryuji stared stonily at the wall of dryers in front of them. He knew nothing was technically a guarantee when it came to being a Phantom Thief, the stakes reaching as far as their lives. He’d been on the brink of death before, but even he couldn’t recall what it felt like when he concentrated enough. He didn’t think he wanted to. 

“I had a lot of time to think while Futaba was up last night,” Morgana said, only a little annoyed at his own mention of Futaba’s horrid sleeping schedule. “I think she was researching any similar happenings that have been reported online, but it didn’t seem like she got anything. I was thinking though… I always heard seven days. I don’t know what specifically it is about seven, but for me it’s a safe bet to assume you’ll probably be alright.”

There it was again. 

_ Probably _ . 

“I think you’ll have to do something when the time comes, though, to make sure your consciousness actually transfers back to the right body. I won’t be able to be in the room when it happens to be safe, but you’ll have to be touching or something, I think.”

Oh, that was no problem. Akira and Ryuji had hugged plenty of times to assure that it wouldn’t have been an issue. 

“Sounds like a plot of a bad romance anime if you ask me,” Ryuji said instead, leaning back onto his palms and throwing a wry smile towards the cat in his bag. 

“That’s what I thought when I heard the stories, trust me,” Morgana purred, and settled his head back onto his paws. The faint rumble of the laundry machine always relaxed him. 

Ryuji and Morgana haven’t ever been able to have a chat like that without a little bit of animosity towards each other in the past, but maybe it was his appearance as Akira that didn’t piss Morgana off when Ryuji felt like being a little shit. Even then though, Akira himself was a little shit as well, but just had a better grasp of when it was appropriate. 

Maybe it was just Ryuji. 

He didn’t know how he’d survive the week being quiet. Akira only really opened up around the team, even though fifty percent of it was the comedic, over-confident act Ryuji could only describe as Joker’s demeanor possessing Akira to mess with everyone, but the same fifty percent of it was one hundred percent horseshit. Other than being with the team, Akira barely spoke, even during confrontations. 

That, and how the majority of Shujins population acted like Akira couldn’t hear half of the shit they talked about him within ear-shot. It pissed Ryuji off beyond belief whenever he listened into it, whether he was hanging out with Akira or not, but Akira always had to wave him off when he offered a ‘solution’ to it. There were numerous occasions where he had to be calmed down so he wouldn’t sock a student himself, but somehow Akira would always laugh it off. 

“It’s fine, ‘Yuji, we’ve gotten worse. That’s why we’re a team, right?” 

Ryuji would give anything to hear it over and over again. It wasn’t the same if it came from his own mouth, but Ryuji wondered if he could record a couple of things to keep in his phone for when he wanted to hear Akira reassure him. 

No, it wouldn’t have been genuine, nonetheless  _ definitely  _ creepy. He always had the damndest ideas floating through his head. 

He zoned out again. The laundry machine next to him signaled it’s finished cycle, and Ryuji hopped off his seat to switch the load into the dryer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short update, sorry! it'll be worth it in coming chapters though, they're definitely gonna be getting longer soon <3


	6. Running The Gun

Even though Ryuji kept himself pretty occupied for the majority of the day after Akira left, he didn’t feel too hungry; Akira’s body was a weird one for sure. Ryuji knew their leader didn’t eat as often as he should, probably because it would slip his mind in between handling his many affairs of the day, but it could have also been because he simply didn’t get hungry.

There was that, and how odd Ryuji felt to not have the faintest bit of electricity feel like it was making rounds through his veins, even outside of the Metaverse. If he were in his own body, he would have had to do something to get the energy out of his legs from keeping in the same place for so long, but he also would have been shifting around way more regardless. 

He thought about what the switch meant for their Personas. He still retained his own consciousness, so it would have made sense for Ryuji to be able to call upon Captain Kidd even in Akira’s body, though the key indicator of the fact no longer coursed through his limbs. Even Ann talked about how she felt Carmen's reigning fire in her own body, so it wasn't like he was alone in the effects. 

But what did that mean for Akira when he had multiple Personas? Ryuji didn’t fully understand how their leader had the power to harness that many in the first place, but Ryuji would have probably received a doozy of an explanation if he asked. 

Regardless, the lack of electric buzzing in his limbs was a little worrisome. He had half a mind to ask Akira if they could stop by Mementos, just the two of them on the upper level to test out if they still had control over their Personas. Maybe they’d have the time… 

The dryer alerted it’s finished job with a loud ping, dragging Ryuji out of his head. He threw the hot clothes into his bag as carefully as he could to not wrinkle them _too_ much while he headed back to LeBlanc where he’d try to take the time to fold them properly. Akira’s body was used to the extra weight on his shoulder where Morgana sat in his bag, but it left Ryuji’s mind completely as he accidentally jostled the cat around upon going up the stairs. 

The sun had almost completely set, leaving behind red hot tendrils of sparse clouds in the purple sky. It was a little difficult to tell through the dingy attic windows, though. 

Ryuji's phone buzzed in his pocket as he finished up his haphazard folding job. 

**Akira** : What is it about your mom that makes you wanna cry?

**ryuji** : you cried?!

**Akira** : She just pulled me into her arms one second, and the next I was crying! I don’t know why! It was so comforting!

**ryuji** : wtf

**ryuji** : geez she’s gonna be so worried about me, what happened to being on a call with you?

**Akira** : …I panicked. On the bright side, it was kinda nice

**Akira** : Also, she mentioned something about you already crying this week? If anything, are YOU alright? 

Ryuji didn’t want to bring it up, but it was his main concern. He didn’t want to worry his mom more than he could help it. 

**ryuji** : shuddup, she wouldn’t have said anything if she knew the situation

**ryuji** : wait…

**ryuji** : is there any way you can get me my summer homework? Completely forgot about it

**Akira** : You want me to do it for you?

**ryuji** : forreal?!

**Akira** : ...For a price

**ryuji** : ain’t my body enough of a price?

**Akira** : I’ll take that as a no

**ryuji** : wait, no!

**Akira** : Sike, I already did a little. Bros before Homework

**ryuji** : i owe ya

**Akira** : TWO bowls of ramen?! Can’t wait

Ryuji scoffed at the message, but couldn’t help the dopey grin that grew on his face. 

“God, you too? Akira always gets a stupid smile whenever he’s texting you, but I just thought it was a weird Akira thing,” Morgana said, exasperated. He must have hopped over to catch sight of the conversation when Ryuji wasn’t paying attention. 

“He..?” Ryuji started, but didn’t bother to finish for his own sake. He knew how these stories ended; there was no need to get his hopes up. 

He made do with transferring the bike and tarp it was on top of to the corner of the attic, right next to the potted houseplant. He was determined to have it fixed up by the end of their seven days, it the least he could really do to make up for some of their circumstances. 

Ryuji was still hung up on how Akira was dealing with his mom while he neatly laid out the now-clean Shujin uniform over a chair. He missed her like hell already, and if Akira’s stony exterior could be broken by her hug, he was worried for what else that entailed. 

He frowned. Ryuji didn’t like the thought of Akira crying, but he didn’t know what Akira’s… crying habits (?) were. He himself turned into putty whenever his mom got him totally relaxed, her soothing words enough for him to drop his protective wall and let it all out for a few minutes. 

Ryuji didn’t have track anymore. He could run, but sometimes his daily rounds around the neighborhood couldn’t do it for him like a solid race could. Even Phantom Thief business would struggle to parallel the untainted adrenaline of hearing the race gun explode into the air, no bullet flying into the air other than him, head turned downwards before aiming an untouchable gaze set on the finish line, and _only_ the finishing line.

He could lose the race, but he’d always win, in a way. 

Ryuji was speed, a sprinter at heart with the legs to prove it. He didn’t need Captain Kidd egging him on, or whatever cheering crowd that was in the bleachers to push him towards the end. It was pure, unabashed love and energy, when air never quite passed through his lungs until he was dashing past the white line that indicated it was over, over, over.

It was Ryuji, his mom, and running, all against the rest of the world. Against Kamoshida and his piece-of-shit dad, of whatever expectations from his teachers he couldn’t meet. 

And then it turned into just Ryuji and his mom. 

He tried his best in the Metaverse. Akira was kind enough to put him on the frontlines, which was a direct opportunity to burn through all the adrenaline he was missing from track and channel it into fighting shadows. However the adrenaline given to him from his Persona could never rival that of pure, unprecedented running high. 

Ryuji couldn’t help that the other way to really expel leftover energy was to get it all out in the form of tears and be done with it. In a way the ragged breathing that tore through his chest, and how muddled his focus got on anything but releasing that energy was the closest he could get to a true, real race. 

Not that he was planning on telling Akira, but he figured he would end up asking about it at some point. Hm. He shouldn’t waste the opportunity for a heart to heart anyway. 

Sojiro closed up a while ago. Ryuji couldn’t remember when he pulled on Akira’s pajamas but paid it no mind as he shuffled downstairs to the bathroom. He needed to brush his teeth before he went to sleep, but felt himself pull a repeat of when he was with Akira the night before. He had all the time in the world to stare at Akira in the mirror when he was alone. 

Ryuji liked Akira without his glasses way better. Other than the fact that he could see perfectly without them, he liked how silver their leaders eyes were, especially when he had eyelashes that Ann would die for. 

Sometimes, Akira’s eyes would look as tired as his moms. It depended on the day, but it was almost always after they had traversed through a Palace in one day, when Ryuji caught fleeting moments of Akira zoning out at his desk. He wouldn’t stare at anything in particular, his eyelids would give into the weight of the world resting on his shoulders and flutter closed for a moment. 

Ryuji tried to capture the moment before, but could never pull his phone out in time before Akira came back to and blinked up at Ryuji, continuing the conversation like he hadn’t ever left. 

He didn’t realize he had a white-knuckle grip on the sides of the sink and forced himself to snap out of it. He couldn’t stop losing focus, more so than he usually did. It was probably a weird side effect of the switch, he’d have to ask Akira if he was feeling the same. 

Ryuji tore his eyes away from the mirror and grabbed the only toothbrush sitting in the cabinet behind it. It was pink. Cute. 

“You took an awfully long time in there,” Morgana peeked an eye open when he heard Ryuji hop up the stairs when he finished his business for the night; The cat was curled up at the end of the bed already. 

“You’re imaginin’ it,” Ryuji responded instead of arguing and dropped himself on top of the sheets. It was still hot in the attic, so Akira’s unnecessarily modest pajamas were going to do in terms of a blanket.

“Make sure you’re ready for school tomorrow,” Morgana purred, but Ryuji already felt himself too exhausted to nod in confirmation. He’ll be on time… probably. 

\-----

Akira anxiously waited outside of the entrance gates to Shujin, watching all the students happy to be back skipping past him, or the ones that weren’t so excited grumbling about it. He had to force himself to be on the lookout for his own unruly black hair instead of Ryuji’s bleached hair in the crowd, but damn, did a lot of students have black hair at Shujin. 

Finally, he caught sight of a grumbling head of messy hair running through the crowd, and soon he caught sight of himself bursting through it. 

“Ryuji, where are my glasses?” 

It might have been weird for anyone who caught what he said to look over at them and realize Ryuji was in fact addressing Akira as himself, but he hoped his voice was hushed enough for anyone to notice. 

“What? Oh man, I _knew_ I forgot something! I got lost on the connectin’ lines here though!” 

Morgana poked his head over Ryuji’s shoulder with a wry look on his face. “He couldn’t follow the directions I _clearly_ gave him.” 

“Your station’s confusin’ as hell! Whatever man, but… you made my uniform look hella nice, lemme fix it.”

Ryuji stepped closer to Akira without warning, disregarding his personal space in favor of unbuttoning the the only clasp Akira had connected on his uniform to reveal the gaudy yellow shirt Ryuji liked to wear under it, and he mussed up his hair a little to match. They didn’t notice the odd looks some students were throwing them as they passed by, wondering why Akira the hell was messing with Ryuji’s hair in a very, very friendly looking way. 

Akira thought Ryuji did a pretty good putting on his uniform, at least. He had all the pieces together, and his hair didn’t look any messier than it usually did. 

“Watch out for how you talk when you’re speaking to teachers, alright? You sound like... yourself.” 

“Alright, alright, but you gotta loosen up how you talk too!” Ryuji bumped their shoulders together while they went up to the second floor to meet up with Ann in Akira’s homeroom. 

“A-Ain’t?” Akira joked, warranting a harder bump to his shoulder. 

“Try a little harder. Or… a little not as hard? Whatever, it’s gonna be a looong day.”

Ryuji stopped in front of the door he knew led into the homeroom when they arrived, hesitating despite himself. Akira had to move him over to the side by the shoulders to allow other students that were behind them to get in, but was too concerned about the worry growing on his own face to care about the dirty looks they were already getting. 

“You alright?” Akira mumbled as unassumingly as he could manage without picking up more attention from the passing students in the hall. 

“I don’t wanna embarrass you as soon as I step foot in there, man. I can barely keep up with what’s goin’ on in my own class, a-and I can barely talk all proper like you, I dunno if I can do this--”

“Breathe, ‘Yuji,” Akira interrupted him before he spiraled into a Ryuji Ramble. “It’s only gonna be a few days, and it’ll pass quicker than we know. And no matter what I do, people talk, okay? I get shit for getting answers right too, so if you mess them all up, it’s not the end of the world.”

Akira calmed Ryuji down a little, but he looked down to see him nervously tapping his foot. “A-Alright, but I’ll try to just keep my mouth shut. Don’t act too smart in my class either, I don’t want ‘em expecting a lot of me when we come back from Hawaii.”

Akira laughed, “I’ll try my best not to answer things correctly? Sounds easy enough.”

“Quit talkin’ all polite! I mean, uh… relax your words a little.”

The bell rang above them, indicating the near beginning of class and warning students to not be late. Akira bid Ryuji a quick goodbye and whirled around to run to Ryuji’s homeroom, trying to recall how Ryuji described where his seat was when he got to the doorway. Somewhere in the middle of class, he knew, but was it the second or third seat from the back..?

Luckily, the rest of their class found their seats pretty quickly and Akira knew it was safe to assume Ryuji’s seat was the only one left empty. He was pushed into the room by a couple of other students rushing through the hallway and all but ran to his own seat, right on time for when Ryuji’s homeroom teacher strode in.

And of course, it _had_ to be Mr. Ushimaru in charge of the class. Akira had barely caught a breath in his own class whenever the grouch came in to teach, whether it was answering the ridiculous questions thrown at him or constantly dodging the damn pieces of chalk he liked to snipe Akira with. He swore he was going to end up with a permanent bump on his forehead if he failed to move out of the way another time. 

Who knows what it entailed for Ryuji, though. 

Mr. Ushimaru took attendance and began the customary speech of what the class’s heightened expectations would be for the new semester, especially since they were all second years and blah, blah, blah. Akira, like most of the class, had already zoned out for it. 

“Mr. Sakamoto, you better be paying attention back there!” 

Akira didn’t entirely register that it was _he_ that was being picked on already, too busy staring at Ryuji’s hands to notice. He could never get a good look at them, but they were rough all over, similarly to Ryuji himself in a way. Calluses covered his fingertips and lined at the top and bottom of his palms, presumably because of how he held his bat as Skull. Akira flipped them around to admire the myriad of veins that escaped from the sleeve of his jacket, finding he liked how they looked (a little too much, maybe). 

With a jolt came a kick on the chair leg behind him, and Akira snapped his head up to witness first hand the icy glare Mr. Ushimaru was directing at him. 

The class interrupted in a wave of hushed giggles, all eyes on Akira while they whispered behind their hands to their seat neighbors. 

Akira knew that Ryuji had become a little bit of an outcast after the situation with Kamoshida, but the reaction was a _little_ much compared to what he faced in his own class. Maybe it was a one time thing…

“S-Sorry?” he stumbled. 

Mr. Ushimaru _humphed_ and raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve learned some manners over the break, Mr. Sakamoto, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a sorry from you before! As I was saying...”

Akira let out the nervous breath sitting in his lungs at the interaction. He hadn’t expected to get off the hook when it came to Mr. Ushimaru in particular, especially when he found a certain joy from giving students hell if it served as an example of what not to do for others. Akira wondered if he had a shadow…

It was unlikely, but Akira let his mind drift off every once in a while to what Mr. Ushimaru’s shadow would manifest as in Mementos. Something really ugly, probably, but weak to electricity so that Ryuji could beat his ass himself. 

Akira forced himself back to the classroom though, fearing another scene he’d have to sheepishly explain to Ryuji later. He didn’t want to have to think about what the rest of the week would mean for them if this example was anything to go by.

He would have to find out soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is gonna bump the rating up to explicit so stay tuned for that <3  
> follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing)!


	7. Contemplation, Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning // masturbation, technically dub-con  
> the scene isnt essential to the story, so if you're not into that aspect of it thats fine, you can stop reading at the ----- in the middle of the screen. just let it be known that the guilt from it will be referenced in later chapters!!  
> thank u, please enjoy!

It was routine-- When they had the time to hang out after school and didn't feel like committing to going out, Akira and Ryuji would scamper off into the LeBlanc's attic and settle onto the respective ends on Akira’s bed, school work spread over the sheets, a bowl of chips balanced between their knees and failing to spare their work a second glance. It mostly served to make it feel like they were being productive, just to dampen the guilt, but at some point or another the TV just _happened_ to start running _Star Forneus_ , and their "productivity" was channeled into other things. 

This time, Ryuji found himself actually scanning through his homework. He wanted to explode just from how tense he felt, but every time he looked up at Akira to crack a joke, he was just looking at his damn self. Then he’d look down at his hands and think about how nice Akira’s hands were, and then look back up to ignore it and it was an endless, endless cycle. 

“You feelin’ weird too?” he asked after 15 minutes of zoning out over a textbook. Akira’s pencil hadn’t moved in a while and he was quiet, more so than what was normal even for him. 

Akira sighed a breath of relief, “God, I wasn’t gonna say anything but I keep on looking at _me_ every time I wanna talk to _you_.” 

_Hmph_. It was going to prove to be a problem if it meant they couldn’t spend the time together while switched, just to lessen the possibilities of talking to someone the either knew. Despite technically not spending a lot of time in the city, Akira had come to befriend an ungodly amount of people in a few months, and Ryuji knew he wouldn’t survive an interaction with them even if it was going to kill him. Or… expose them? If anything, it would only leave Akira to deal with the mess afterwards. 

Ryuji got an idea. “Here, just…”

He gathered their work into a crinkling heap and threw it to either end of the bed before maneuvering Akira by his shoulders to the middle of the sheets, just so he was sat cross legged towards his desk. Ryuji satisfactorily flopped down back to back to Akira, who was slowly catching on to the idea. 

“Why couldn’t I think of that?” Akira muttered, leaning back into Ryuji’s once they got comfortable.

Akira stretched his right leg out across the bed, pointedly ignoring the ache in his thigh after keeping his legs bent for so long. He wanted to ask Ryuji about it, but… not yet. Later, when he wasn’t so relaxed and happy just to be in Ryuji’s presence now that he didn’t have to look at himself to be in it. 

“I’m smart in your body now, ya better watch out for me!” Ryuji laughed. 

It rattled against Akira’s spine. “Oh for sure, I already feel myself losing all my common sense.”

Ryuji elbowed him in the back of the arm with a chuckle, but otherwise got back to work. His handwriting was neater than usual with Akira’s hand, which hopefully wouldn’t have warranted any comments from his teachers for Akira to deal with. Speaking of…

“How was Ushimaru?” he asked.

If he kept his voice quiet enough, he didn’t have to remember that it was Akira’s. 

“Oh, uh. Y’know,” Akira evaded, but the scratch of his pencil froze. 

Ryuji groaned, abandoning his efforts on a biology worksheet to shift so he could lean his head back and rest it on Akira’s shoulder. “C’mon man, you didn’t get me in trouble or anythin’, right?” 

“I said sorry to him?”

“Gah, you’re already raisin’ everyone’s expectations for me! Next thing you know you’ll be acin’ my tests,” Ryuji joked, relieved that Akira hadn’t _actually_ gotten himself in trouble with Ushimaru. The man was a menace when he had a piece of chalk on hand. “And, uh-- what about my mom?” 

Akira abandoned any chance he had of getting anything done and dropped his work in favor of mirroring Ryuji's, resting his head on the side of Ryuji’s, ignoring the way his own hair tickled the side of his face. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to be, but it was the closest he could get to Ryuji without having to _look_ at him, if he tried his hardest to imagine a different circumstance, a different scene and time and place.

If he slid down lower, they’d be using each other as chair backs. 

“I dunno,” Akira muttered. “She just hugged me, and then…” 

“Yeah,” Ryuji finished for him. “That’s mom for ya.” 

He left it at that. Uncertainty hung over their heads, unanswered questions, all mixed up implications jumbled together to form a looming storm cloud. 

They should have talked about it, _probably_.

Akira was itching to ask Ryuji about track, burning curiosity dragging the question to the seam of his lips until he decided it was probably for the best that he waited. His second day in Ryuji’s body was already a doozy, they were both a little worn out, and he’d rather it not have gotten awkward between them so early on in the switch. 

Instead, Akira stretched his arms out towards the desk, feeling some tension leave his shoulders. He was so used to Ryuji’s abrasiveness. His awful posture, lax language, soft face matched up with a sharp distaste for authority. No one could blame him, not after Kamoshida’s ego paraded around Shujin and its track team for as long as it did, and not with what Akira knew of his father. Akira never _really_ understood the extent of Ryuji’s outcastidness until Ushimaru made the comment in class about his manners, and his classmates were all too quick to laugh at him. It was a weird bandwagon to jump on, but it wasn’t anything Akira hadn’t endured himself. 

_Outcasts_. 

Akira entered Shujin with zero chance of clearing the slandered reputation so gracefully gifted to him before he stepped foot into Shujin, but Ryuji was the first student to tell him that he didn’t believe any of it. He didn’t mind the label if it was what got him and Ryuji to connect. 

That outcasts just need to stick together. 

The sentiment was solidified before he knew, before Phantom Thieves and rooftops, when Akira was able to stir his Persona awake to save Ryuji in the Metaverse. 

As corny as it was, it really was all history afterwards. Ryuji and Ann had the reconciliation he knew they needed, what with Ann enduring Kamoshida’s manipulation and apologizing later for ignoring Ryuji when they were in the same boat. They drifted apart after middle school, but it was a little suprising to think it was the Metaverse that would have brought Akira to them, to bring them _all_ together. 

Akira smiled despite himself. The Phantom Thieves was a family in itself, which was so, _so_ cheesy to think, but it wasn’t difficult to consider it as such. Even Makoto was initiated into their little gang of vigilante punks (really, it’s what it was), and Futaba was their new little sister of sorts. 

It wouldn’t have begun without Akira and Ryuji, though. It was brief, but it was just them for a little bit. Akira, who wouldn’t have traded accidentally following Ryuji into Kamoshida’s Palace for the world. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Ryuji murmured. He got lost in the solace of their breathing to realize he zoned out. 

Akira breathed, “Nothing.” They left it at that. It was only the first day of the semester, so they weren’t in any hurry to be getting any work done.

They just got their checkpoint to breathe. 

In a way, it felt like it was just Akira and Ryuji again. Morgana out on a walk, just the two of them insisting they do their work on the bed so that they could stay together, wondering, wondering, wondering. There was no one Akira would have rather wasted the days away with. 

\-----

Eventually Akira had to leave when Aiko texted him a reminder that the train he usually took home was going to leave soon.

That left Ryuji alone in the attic, without Morgana to lazily watch over him. For the first time since the switch, he was completely by himself.

It was nearing sunset, so it meant he could probably walk around Yongen without running into anyone Akira knew; Everyone would be closing up their stores or going home for the day, and it being a weekday cleared up any other stragglers in the street.

Ryuji gathered up the school work he didn’t finish into a pile on the sheets and stretched his arms over his head. They didn’t get much of anything done except basking in each other’s presence, which wouldn’t have been a problem if Hiruta-sensei hadn’t decided to assign them a heap load of bio ‘catch up’ homework. 

Ryuji decided to ignore it for now. 

He stretched his back out next, low groan rumbling through his stomach and into his lungs. The heat was as suffocating as always, which only worsened when Akira and Ryuji had shared the majority of their body heat together. Ryuji peeled the back of his shirt off of his shoulder blades and, geez, he was sweating all over. At least his apartment had air conditioning, so Akira would fare far better than him in that aspect for the week. 

Before he could really _think_ about it, Ryuji was getting ready to be on his way to the bathhouse nearby, some money stuffed into his pockets and a small basket of toiletries Akira kept on a shelf in hand. The last time he'd been to a bathhouse was with Akira and Yusuke, and the one near his apartment was a little pricier to get into, so it would have been a pleasant way to end the day. He might as well have taken advantage of what he could.

Since it wasn't his first time in the shoddy building, it was far easier navigating it, though its cozy size didn't make it difficult in the first place. He secured his things in a locker, not sparing a second thought to getting completely undressed.

Really, he didn’t spare a second thought to not being in his own body while he did so. He took a hasty shower in one of the cubicles in the curtained room over, more keen on getting into the bath as soon as he could to relax his muscles than anything else. It was all warmth and hazy white, running water down his back, cool shower tiles, something fading in every hard line of his legs. Something vague prodded at his mind, like he was forgetting something, but the idea of a bath was more enticing than dwelling on something that probably had to do with the homework he didn't finish. 

Ryuji sighed long and hard when he could finally dip into the bath, his head rolling back to stretch out every taut muscle with the help of the steam. The bathhouse was barren save for the attendant far away at the front desk, so he could set the temperature of the water to as hot as he’d like.

His limbs thanked him for it; It was easy to get lost in how pent up his body got in between missions and infiltrations. Normally, he would wash it out of his body with a good jog and a warm shower at home, but a bathhouse proved to be a pleasant change of scenery. 

Until he ran a hand through his hair. 

And... Oh. It hit him like a load of bricks, a speeding truck, a barbell to the temple. 

_Oh_. Oh geez. He wasn’t Ryuji, he was… _in Akira’s body_.

Naked. It completely left his mind the second he became set on going to the bathhouse, and now he was…

Thinking about it. Over analyzing it, because now he was _naked_ as _Akira_ and really, he could have just ignored the fact in favor of making the bath worth his money, but his eyes were stubbornly concentrated on the ceiling rather than just lazy gazing at it and he was uncomfortably, _uncomfortably_ aware of it. _It_. It being Akira’s naked body and…

No, no, _no no no no no_ . There was no way in goddamn _hell_ that Ryuji was getting hard at the thought of it. 

He ground his teeth and tried to ignore the blood rushing to his crotch. Of course, just _thinking_ about Akira being naked turned him on, because he was a perv of a dude who liked his best friend and got half-hard in public because of it. _Of course._

Ryuji could have died right there in the bath. Now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t get his mind off of it. Ever brush of bare skin on bare skin zapped up his spine. He awkwardly shifted his gaze to the wall next to him, but his eyes flickered down and-- _oh_. He can’t come back down from that one, can he? Geez, god, oh god. 

He was too curious for his own good. Ryuji knew that. His mind never gave him a break, he always saw things out until the end. 

That’s what he told himself when he slowly brought his eyes back down to his lap. Grazing down the black hair that made up Akira’s happy trail, to the cluster of thick dark curls that rested at the base of his cock. 

And of course, even Akira’s _dick_ was pretty. He would be the death of Ryuji. 

Ryuji was stunned into silence, arms rested on the edge of the bath with his hands in the air like he was surrendering to something. Maybe he was, to himself, to the voice screaming in his head to touch it. His eyes were glued on Akira’s dick, almost floating in the clear water of the bath now that he was at half-mast. It was unfairly nice all around, a decent size, maybe a little bit on the thinner side, and cut with a pretty, pretty pink head. 

It was too hot in the bath. That was the whole point but it was-- suffocating, clouding his lungs, his common sense. Every warning screeching in his head that it wasn't too late to turn back, to leave and pretend he never broke the one "rule" they established. That _he_ established, geez, he was the one to bring it up in the first place. Fucking hypocrite. 

But, more importantly-- it was deserted and deafeningly silent, save for Ryuji labored breathing. 

Ryuji’s internal back and forth lasted him a couple of minutes until his hand moved on its own, just to run through the thatch of thick hair above his cock. The tip of his fingers brushed past the base and Akira’s body was _sensitive--_ Ryuji’s breath automatically hitched at the contact. 

He forced a deep breath through his lungs, more to convince himself that this was fine, he wasn’t violating his best friend’s rights, he was just… handling himself. As any teenager would. It sounded wrong in his own head too, but his (Akira’s?) cock throbbed in interest and he was a goner. 

Ryuji had the decency to get out of the water, at least. The edge of the tub was cold on his bare ass but it was the _very_ last thing on his mind when he barely wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, more fingerprint than a proper grip. It was more intoxicating than he thought it would be. He hummed and experimentally stroked upwards, light in his hand, yet Akira’s body reacted more than it should have. 

It was another sensation _entirely_. 

Ryuji was used to the years and years of masturbating silently in his room in fear of waking his mom up through the paper thin walls that made up their apartment. It came easily to him, but with Akira’s body came Akira’s reactions, and his mouth unconsciously parted to pant, to grab at any air he could find. Akira must not have had the opportunity for alone time too often, probably with Morgana attached to his side and the attic not doing much to dampen any type of noise through its worn floors. It was probably why, when Ryuji thumbed the slit of Akira’s head, he lost his grasp on suppressed silence and _something_ slipped out from the back of his throat, he involuntarily arched his back into his own touch. 

There was a mirror Ryuji was avoiding looking at. It was large enough to occupy most of the wall to his right, reflecting the bath and Ryuji perched on the edge of it. 

He glanced over at it, washed over with a sudden moral conscious he already ignored once, that _he was in public, damnit_ , but the sight of Akira in his place was enough to wipe the thought away the second it passed over his head. 

He was a blotchy bright red down to his shoulders, a combination of the steam rising from the bath and his own arousal sitting proudly, flushed, bumping against his stomach. It glistened at the tip, secreting a generous amount of precum Ryuji wouldn’t have taken Akira to have in him, though it was enticing enough for his hand to move on its own again. His mouth was still parted open, unfairly lewd and so hot Ryuji could have combusted right there. 

He forced himself to look away before he came just at the sight of Akira. (He was pathetic, wasn't he?)

Instead, Ryuji set a tantalizing steady pace on his slippery cock while his hand explored the rest of his body. He lightly trailed his fingers over his nipples, expecting his own sensitive reaction to it but it wasn’t nearly as intense as it was in his own body. However, it was enough for Ryuji to twitch in his hand as he quickly got closer and closer to his orgasm.

It was embarrassing how much faster it went with his quickening pace, but Akira’s body most likely not finding release often combined with the fact that Ryuji’s mind was dwelling on the fact that he was _technically_ getting Akira off sent him closer to the edge than he could have imagined. 

The heat pooling in his stomach grew more and more overwhelming until he was bucking into his own hand, biting down on his lip to stifle the noises coming out of his mouth, until— _oh_. 

(Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.)

Ryuji did his best to catch the white hot stripes of cum while he rode out his orgasm, but his mind flashed on and off and on and off before he could think about it too hard. It punched through him in waves, more intense then he could have prepared himself for—

Akira’s body was an… interesting one. He thought he knew that already, but he had a bad feeling he wouldn't stop learning even more. 

It took a couple of minutes to catch his breath. It was as stuffy in the tiled room as the bath made it, but combined with his own flush it was overwhelming, lodging in his throat and refusing to budge, no matter how hard he swallowed. Choking him. He… oh, god. He just— he did it, didn’t he. 

Ryuji knew what the woes of post-nut clarity normally entailed, but this was something else _entirely_. He, _holy_ _shit_ , violated... That's what it was, right?

That, and he was sitting in a public bathhouse. Anyone could have come in to see and— _no_ , that _shouldn’t_ have illicited a twitch of interest in his (Akira's?) spent cock, oh _god._

It would have been an unimaginable problem for Akira to deal with. 

Ryuji took the small towel he left at the edge of the bath and did his best to clean up the mess he made on his hand and stomach, internally cringing as his thoughts ran too rampant in guilt, too quick and spiraling into unwavering self hatred before he could catch up to it. 

He… wouldn’t tell Akira. _Yet_. He probably should have owned up to it right away, but it was technically only their second full day switched and he didn’t know if he could deal with the embarrassment of admitting that he caved and touched his dick first, if Akira would have even given in.

No, Akira was probably going to be patient and wait it out if he did get hard. Ryuji was _pretty_ sure he knew him well enough to say that. Akira’s only predicament would be dealing with Ryuji’s body and his random boners, but he couldn’t help but wonder how often Akira got them too. Guy things. 

Ryuji pointedly ignored his crotch while he got out of the bath and went to get his things, feeling considerably dirtier than he did before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the second half of the chapter is really just self-indulgent, body swap is one of my all time fave tropes and the whole aspect of self lovin is one of the first things that come to mind when i think about it.  
> we're halfway there! again, this is another short update, i wanted to fill in a little bit of timeline + ryuji's (akira's?)... self lovin will be referenced later (think: guilt). i went back to make this "Part I", which is just the first half of this fic. Part II will kick off with chapter 8 next week, which will def all be longer updates+a lot of emotions, the works. thank u for reading, i hope to see u here next week!!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing)!


	8. Hi, Senpai!

_Part II_

Ryuji couldn’t help but continue to feel guilty on his way to Shujin the next morning. Less so than before, but a little guilty nonetheless. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten off to the thought of Akira before ( _that_ was a whole other story), but it ate away at him to think that he violated Akira personally. 

He would apologize later. 

It was easier to push it to the back of his mind while dozing off in Hiruta’s class, mind choosing to dwell on the gentle rain pattering against the window. Even as Akira, Ryuji felt stuffy in the uniform, the summer heat combined with the humidity in the air enough to make his collar itch. His hand inched towards his sleeve, justwanting to roll them up, anything to lessen the wave of warmth on his body, but he was worried about messing up the perfect student image Akira worked so hard to curate and maintain. He even remembered to wear the glasses!

“Kurusu!”

Ryuji snapped his head up to meet the menacing glare of Hiruta-sensei standing at the podium in front of the room. The rest of the class snickered behind their hands in his direction. 

“S-Sorry?” Ryuji stuttered out, suddenly nervous out of his mind. God, why hadn’t he been paying attention?

“I asked a question. Do you need it to be repeated?” 

Ryuji slunk lower in his seat. “...Yes.” 

Morgana slapped himself in the face with his paw. 

Hiruta cleared his throat to repeat, “The red king crab is biologically related to the hermit crab, but how is it different from a crab? Do you know?” 

Ryuji was fucked. He was, because he couldn’t recall a single time he ever heard about _crabs_ in biology. He thought it was all just cells or something, that stuff he _did_ know. Or maybe it was on the homework from the day before, which he hadn’t completed… 

“The shape of its pincers?” Ryuji tried, his answer resembling more of a question. By the way Ann dropped her head in a silent groan on her desk, he got it wrong. 

Hiruta shared the same sentiment as Ann, and he heavily sighed. “That’s incorrect. Your homework looks to have the correct answer, but… well, it should have been expected. It’s by the number of their legs.”

Hiruta continued his explanation and moved on with the lesson, but Ryuji hadn’t learned _his_ lesson and let his mind wander elsewhere. He could hear some of the students in class whispering about it, insisting it shouldn’t have been a surprise for a delinquent not to study, that he probably cheated on his homework anyways. 

Ryuji felt awful about it. He should have done his homework; Akira was probably being chewed out for it in Ryuji’s class. 

He couldn’t stop fucking up, could he?

\-----

The rest of the school day was uneventful, thankfully. While they ate lunch on the roof, Ryuji apologized to Akira for his blunder in class, in which Akira laughed it off with a wave of his hand. He reminded Ryuji that he was used to it no matter if he got questions in class right or wrong, but Ryuji felt bad about it regardless. 

He was on his way to the train station to get back to LeBlanc after school ended. Akira told him that he had to stay behind and help Makoto sort something out in the student council room, so it was just Ryuji, his umbrella, and the ever-annoying rain that hadn’t slowed its pace since morning. Ryuji grumbled along the way. Morgana didn’t want to risk getting his fur wet so he was buried at the bottom of Ryuji's bag, nestling in the dry warmth. Bastard. Ryuji already felt water seeping into the toe of his shoes from when he accidentally stepped into a puddle by the entrance. 

There was a pattering of gentle footsteps running towards him from behind, but before he had half a mind to turn around and make sure he wasn’t going to get run over, someone was already wrapped around his forearm. 

“Hi, Senpai!”

Oh, it was only Yoshizawa-san. Ryuji recalled Akira mentioning that the two had become friends, but did friends _really_ get so close? She was nestled into his side to fit under the umbrella, though she was already too soaked for it to have done much. Her bangs were plastered onto her forehead and her face was damp, if it was any indication. 

“H-hey!” Ryuji responded, a little awkward and a second late. How was he supposed to act around her? Akira never mentioned her...

Kasumi was as unfazed as ever. Her smile was wide, offering enough sunlight to combat the storm clouds unleashing hell onto them and Ryuji had to suppress the urge to squint his eyes at her. Actually, it could have been a glare on his glasses, but was it..?

“I figured I would cash in that offer to use your umbrella when it rained,” she said, turning her focus to walking towards the station. “It’s okay, right?”

_Think of an Akira answer, think of an Akira answer_ …

“Yeah, totally.”

Ryuji would have facepalmed if he could. Kasumi looked like she was expecting something more, maybe a comment to progress the conversation, but Ryuji couldn’t think of anything to say for the life of him. 

Is this what being friends meant to Akira? Kasumi hanging off his arm like the cute kouhai she was?

No, Ryuji was thinking bitterly. 

He refused to acknowledge that it _might_ have been that he was just a teeny tiny bit jealous of the fact. 

Kasumi was a really nice, hardworking girl, anyone would have been blind not to notice. Not even… Akira. 

“Is something on your mind, Senpai?”

Geez, she sounded so sincere, it made Ryuji’s heart hurt. Of _course_ Akira would like someone as cool as Kasumi. She was an athlete too, probably had the figure to prove it. Not to mention she was an honors student, smart and cool and _still_ maintaining an unmoving grip on his arm, shit, how strong was she? 

She was so close, obviously comfortable enough to ensure she was under the umbrella for the steady pace they kept towards the train station. 

“It’s nothing,” Ryuji had to remember to answer. He was spiraling in his own head, as usual. 

What was Ryuji to Akira anyways? _They_ hadn’t shared an umbrella before. Well, they hadn’t ever been caught under the rain either, but Ryuji had to wonder if they would. Best bros would, right?

Best bros. 

Ryuji wasn’t an honors student. He couldn’t make up for it with athletics either, if his fucked up leg was anything to go by. God, Kasumi was still smiling at him, he could feel it. It made him want to slouch over in insecurity, but the rustling in his bag reminded him that he was Akira, not Ryuji, and had to act as such. 

By some force of the universe he was endlessly thankful for, they arrived at the train station. 

It was Ryuji’s cue to lower his umbrella and wring it out onto the floor, prompting Kasumi to remove her arm and finally step away from him. She stayed there though, a little expectant while she gazed at his face. 

Ryuji didn’t know what to do when she leaned in and pulled his glasses off his face. 

“You have water all over your glasses, Senpai. The rain must be a pain with them, right?”

“Right.”

Ryuji’s throat was dry. She was so close to him, focused on wiping Akira’s glasses with the corner of her uniform jacket and Ryuji was nervous for all the wrong reasons. Geez, she was so nice. He hated it.

She looked up and pushed them back onto his face, deeming her job satisfactory enough to last him the walk home. Her hands brushed over the sides of his face as she did so, taking a step back with her hands proudly sitting on her hips. “There!” she said, looking content with herself. 

Ryuji’s insides froze. Morgana rustled around in his bag again. “Alright thanks Yoshizawa I gotta get to my train I’ll see you later!” 

His words flew out of his mouth all muddled before he knew what he was saying, but with a curt nod he whirled around quicker than he thought possible, letting his feet take him to his train platform before he could embarrass Akira further. 

Kasumi was probably sending him a weird look, he could feel it burning into his back, but he turned corners at the station before he could find the energy to think about it further. No, his mind dwelled on how comfortable Kasumi was with getting so goddamn close, and he wondered if Akira failed to tell Ryuji the nature of his and Kasumi’s relationship on purpose. They _had_ to have had something going on behind the curtain. Maybe Akira didn’t inform him on purpose. 

On purpose. Best bros. 

He spiraled into his own internal ramble all the way back to LeBlanc. He’d have to bring it up to Akira himself, right? He could feign mere curiosity, but even then he could only imagine how it would have gone wrong. 

There was no way Akira would have been able to like someone like Ryuji, no way in hell. 

And, god, Ryuji was unbelievably jealous of Kasumi. 

A bittersweet, sadistic thought weaseled it’s way into his fucked up head, though. She didn’t know his glasses were fake, did she? 

\-----

After helping Makoto organize some files in the student council room after school, Akira didn’t have much to do. Without having work to go to or meeting up with one of his friends who weren’t the Thieves, Akira got bored in Ryuji’s apartment pretty quickly. His homework was done, Aiko was still at work and would be for the rest of the day, and he didn’t exactly have anything else on his agenda for the day. 

It was a shame that the rain continued to beat onto the window in Ryuji’s room, it looked like it wasn't planning to stop. Akira could have gone on a run since the endless energy Ryuji had had started to infiltrate his mannerisms already, but running meant sweating, and the makeshift sink-showers he had been taking to avoid getting naked wouldn’t have sufficed in cleaning full-body running sweat. Even if he went to a bathhouse, he knew he would have been too aware of his circumstances to go along with it normally.

Well, whatever normal meant for them now. 

Akira decided to resume his cleaning of Ryuji’s room instead. He had the time to tackle the whirlwind of clothes hung haphazardly onto the hangers in the closet, though some of them were strewn onto the floor or messily folded and thrown onto the shelf above the bar. Maybe he’d have the time to take the overflowing hamper to the laundry machine on the first floor if he worked efficiently enough…

It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do. 

He began with picking up all the shirts that had fallen off their hangers at the bottom of the closet, rustling through the almost eye-bleeding pile of bright fabric. Akira thought to make the safe bet and just wash all of it if he was at it already, but it would have been hard to explain to Aiko why he was making so many rounds of laundry if he didnt work quickly. 

He’d leave it to Ryuji. Instead he sorted through the rest of the discarded junk Ryuji thought to throw into the closet (like it would disappear, or something), including a couple of broken figures or worn sports balls he evidently didn’t use anymore. 

Akira kicked the third stuffed animal that tumbled off of the pile out of the way on his journey to find the bottom, a dull throb from his knee sending pain up his leg, but it was not a distraction enough from the out of place neon that caught his eye. Ryuji was a bright-clothes type of guy, but not near a neon person. Even _he_ had some sort of standard for his… unique wardrobe, as lax as it was. 

It was obscured by a couple of old t-shirts that looked to be from Ryuji’s old middle school, but Akira paid them no mind and reached for the shiny neon yellow material. It seemed to be nylon from how it slipped against his fingertips, but it was also oddly heavy when Akira did get a proper grip on it and lifted it out of its confines. 

Huh, a neon yellow drawstring bag. Except, it only had one loop of string, so it couldn’t have been the kind to be worn like a backpack. 

Akira knew he shouldn’t have snooped, no matter how tempting it was, but the bag was too heavy to be carrying anything normal and he could have _sworn_ he recognized it from somewhere…

He carried it to the bed and tentatively pulled down on the clip that kept the bag closed at the top. It was a gamble deciding to spill out its contents directly on the bed, but all that tumbled out was a pair of sneakers, and various different photos. 

_Oh_ , Akira realized with a start. The sneakers were track spikes, the ones he recognized Ryuji wearing from one of the smaller pictures hung on the living room wall. The bag was familiar to him because he’d seen ex-track members carrying them around school, presumably for when they could sneak onto the track after school and practice. Except, for the pictures...

Guilt slowly gnawed at Akira’s chest when he really observed them, but he was too deep into his observation now to pretend he didn’t see them and be sound at mind. The shots consisted of the old track members, of them hanging out or relaxing during the breaks they had in between exercise drills. That, and sunsets glowing behind Shujin’s track field, or Ryuji grinning at the camera with medals stacked around his neck. 

Akira should have put it all away and thrown the bag back into the closet as if he had never touched it, but every new picture he stared at was encouragement to look at the next one for ever longer. Soon, he had thoroughly examined every picture, but got his hands on a thinner piece of paper, slightly crumpled up under the rest of the pile. 

Instead of a picture, Akira was greeted with… words? Right, he could read, that was a thing. 

**_First Year on Way to Beating School Track Record!_ **

_This weekend, we had the fortune of witnessing the very first varsity race of newcomer first year, Ryuji Sakamoto. Facing some of the fastest third years of the prefecture, Sakamoto put himself in the limelight of many college scouts already, having won second place to a third year of a rivaling school and being a mere second away from beating Shujin’s record for the boys 100m sprint, which had been set 10 years ago! Let’s cheer him on the next race, and be sure to thank track coach Mr. Kamosh_

The newspaper cutout ended abruptly, the end of the word having been cut off. Akira didn’t blame him, but he was suddenly too busy digesting the _real_ extent of what track meant to Ryuji to dwell on it. Ryuji scarcely talked about track these days unless he was mentioning some of the drama he was getting dragged into regarding his ex-teammates, but he never bothered to elaborate further on the sport itself.

Akira’s hands grazed down to the hem of too-large basketball shorts Ryuji often wore. He never thought too hard about changing when he did, but he bunched up the material at the top of his thigh to get a good look at the long, surgical scar that ran down a decent amount of Ryuji’s thigh. 

It didn’t seem to be his knee that was the source of all the pain, then, but it was sensitive enough to stem from there. Akira traced his fingers down the healing line; it began at the top of his thigh and stretched out right over his knee cap when he bent his leg, stark white in the area compared to the rest of it. It must have been a deep incision from the surgery if the scar was still a dark pink, red flushing the edges in the middle. 

It was no wonder why Ryuji chose to wear oversized shorts all the time. 

Akira racked his conscious for everything he knew about human anatomy. If the surgery scar ran up Ryuji’s thigh and not his knee…

Had… Kamoshida broken his _femur_?!

Akira was no medical expert, but he was positive that the femur was the only bone in the thigh, that it supposed to be the strongest bone in the body. Maybe he had to answer it on a test once… No matter, though. 

_Holy shit_. 

He knew Kamoshida was pretty strong, both in shadow form _and_ outside of the Metaverse, but to have broken a student’s femur in the name of self defense?

There were restless nights Akira spent staring at his ceiling, eyes burning as he thought about if everything they were doing was worth it, and _this_ was only another pang to his conscience. The concept of taking the foundation of justice into one's own hands was already morally questionable, but it was easy for Akira to forget just how many lives they’ve saved when he was contemplating previous missions, unable to stop the reruns of every near-death experiences they’ve racked up thus far. There were large battles, or even just a couple of days he went into with the overwhelming dread of Deja Vu, an explanation of which he chalked up to the work of Igor, but it was unsettling enough to make him want to crawl out of his own skin at its occurrence. 

At that moment, though, he knew he wouldn’t ever waste another moment dwelling on it, on questioning his morality, if they were really doing the right thing.

No-- For the first time, Akira wished they killed Kamoshida while they had the chance. 

For the bastard to have broken Ryuji’s femur, just to make sure there wasn’t a sliver of possibility for any type of sprinting comeback from him, _all_ because Kamoshida was the one to have worked him up in the first place? 

Akira was glad Kamoshida was rotting in prison. 

He didn’t notice how violently his shoulders were shaking until it caused the bed frame to tremble under him. In that moment, he felt the rage Ryuji had bottled up in his body, combined with his mind's own seething anger, but the two were scarily interchangeable.

He was too worked up to worry about what it meant for their situation, as worrying as it should’ve been to have lost sight of himself for that sliver of a second. 

It was the last thing on his mind. 

Akira’s hand inched toward his phone laying on the bed a few inches from him, but he knew he couldn’t have called Ryuji. What he even wanted to say, he didn’t know. He could have teared up at the thought of Ryuji experiencing all of this alone, cooped up in a hospital bed, sickened at what it all implied, or maybe yell at Ryuji for never opening up about it when he knew he could confide in Akira no matter what. 

How long had he spent alone with his feelings?

He couldn’t blame Ryuji for being so high strung anymore. Another jab of pain stabbed at his thigh when he worked up the resolve to continue cleaning out the closet and stood up from the bed, throwing the track spikes and pictures back into the neon yellow bag in hopes that Ryuji wouldn’t notice his fiddling with it. 

Akira would throw it back into the corner after he cleaned out the rest of Ryuji’s things and pretend he never saw it or the contents inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we got a lil double pov for this chapter, finally getting into The Good Shit (hopefully)  
> i chose an actual question from the game that hiruta asks, i got so lucky with that one. also this chapter is not at all slandering kasumi, i LUV her, ryuji's just stuck in his head and (totally not) jealous  
> we're getting into heavier things for the next chapter, look forward to that. perhaps... the question regarding the state of their personas is answered /eyes emoji/
> 
> [twitter!](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing/status/1286110002105798656?s=20)


	9. Passing Breathes

The foggy music of the Velvet Room seeped into Akira’s dream like a gentle roll of a raindrop on a cloudy window. He wasn’t sure if he should have found it comforting or not. 

His eyes slowly fluttered open to the familiar ceiling, but his only instinct was to bring his hands to his hair. Thankfully, they tangled into his usual unruly locks rather than the short hair he still couldn’t get used to and it almost relieved him to tears. 

“It seems you’ve landed yourself into quite the circumstance…”

Igor’s voice was enough to drag Akira out of his excitement as he scrambled off of the bed, hands automatically locking around the cold prison bars in front of him. Caroline and Justine obediently guarded either side of the cell, their eyes glued forward. No quip, no comment. Unlike them.

“I-Is it possible for us to switch back?” was the first question that spilled out of Akira’s mouth. He saw Caroline grow a little antsy at his disregard for formalities, huffed and tapped her foot, but she remained silent. 

“Nothing is impossible, that much you’re already aware…” came the frustrating, too-vague answer from Igor that Akira should have expected, especially with the man's track record of _never_ answering questions how he wanted. Needed.

A glowing rectangle the size of a card appeared in Igor’s hands that he let float in his large palm, hovering over his gloved fingers. Mocking. There was something… mocking about it. Akira couldn’t think. 

“The Fool had become switched with The Chariot in a turn of circumstance,” he drawled, and the card in his palm flipped to change the image on its face. “Although, rehabilitation would be naught without improvisation, that is such with the fate of The Fool… Isn’t it funny how the cards have…”

The card flipped to emit a golden glow. “... turned? Whether or not it was in your favor will only be revealed with time… After all, thou art I...” 

Somehow, Igor made it possible to make less sense than he usually managed to be. Akira suppressed the groan threatening to display his annoyance in favor of _not_ getting his shit rocked by a weapon-wielding Caroline, but before he could ask another question, his vision was already fading to black as it did when Igor ended their impromptu visits.

No matter how much he wished he was in some sort of dream he couldn’t wake up from, Akira’s eyes opened up to bear witness of Ryuji’s ceiling for the third night in a row instead of LeBlanc’s familiar wooden support beams like he hoped. 

Saturday. He was another day closer to returning to his own body. 

\-----

Ryuji and Akira were settled on Akira’s bed, back to back. Finishing any homework was hopeless, especially considering they wanted another moment to relax against each other when they weren't trying to pass as themselves in public. 

Akira quietly recalled his visit to the Velvet Room to Ryuji, doing his best to explain who Igor was, what his rehabilitation meant, the works. Ryuji nodded along against the side of his head, though he didn’t have a full grasp of how it possibly could have worked. He guessed the same could have been said about the entire concept of their personas, the Metaverse, but that was another train of thought he didn’t want to get himself tangled up in. 

Ryuji felt…. Well rested, for once. Morgana’s nagging about getting to sleep proved to be of some help, because Akira’s body got tired at ten like it was clockwork. Ryuji’s own horrid sleep schedule was enough to keep him up until the later hours of the night just playing video games. He had no idea how Akira was faring with that. 

He was comfortable not thinking about his leg for once. Another burden Akira had to uphold for the week. 

With every passing day faded the initial displacement, the lack of electricity settling into something akin to normality. When he was on his phone, walking to school, he forgot about the switch entirely until he’d pass by a puddle or storefront window and catch sight of Akira staring back at him in the reflection. 

Most noticeably, he lacked the electricity he grew so used to stringing around his limbs, having grown so used to it in his own body that he felt empty without it. It didn't feel dormant, it was just... gone. 

Gone.

\-----

They found themselves going to the first level of Mementos to see what the switch had done to their personas soon after. 

Mementos was still, uncharacteristically so. The normal screech of far off subways that normally echoed in its depths was replaced by deafening, deafening silence. Only their footsteps pattered in the lobby upon their arrival, and even Jose wasn’t at the doors to greet them. 

“‘Kira?”

It broke the tension, at least. The eerie quiet. Ryuji’s heart thundered more than any storm he could ever conjure up. He felt nerves gather in his rib cage, clumps of them he didn’t know if he could breathe through. 

“Yeah?”

Quiet, impossibly quiet. Maybe it was the roar in Ryuji’s ears. Ringing. 

“You wanna try first or should I?”

“Go ahead,” Akira nodded, avoiding his gaze. Ryuji couldn’t blame him. He avoided his own. 

There wasn’t a rush of adrenaline, the surge of confidence he grew used to before summoning his persona. He couldn’t feel Captain Kidd stir in his gut like he always did whenever they set foot in the Metaverse, feeling the emptiness that was the pit in his stomach instead. 

He tried to inject as much intent in his voice as he could, though he wasn’t sure if the charade of confidence was for himself or Akira, who had been worrying at his bottom lip since Ryuji suggested they go to Mementos. “ _Captain Kidd!_ ” 

He could have fallen to his knees in relief; Captain Kidd appeared in front of him, but…

His persona looked to be a husk of what it was supposed to represent. A hologram of itself, Captain Kidd stood hunched over on his floating ship, growing transparent enough for Ryuji to spot Akira behind him, eyes wide to confirm that it wasn’t just Ryuji seeing this. 

Ryuji’s mouth was too dry to speak. Captain Kidd wasn’t too much of a talker anyway. 

He felt every pull of his persona on his core, grappling for something at his heart that he couldn’t get a grip on. It tugged with every breath he took, accompanied with a faint flicker of Captain Kidd and, oh man, that couldn’t be good. 

Ryuji drew in a large swallow of air to see what effect it would have on Captain Kidd, and his persona grew transparent enough for Ryuji to make eye contact with Akira. He couldn’t breathe out. He stared at himself, his wide, scared eyes and stiff shoulders and limp arms. He wondered what Akira saw of himself, if he looked as terrified as Ryuji felt. 

Ryuji let go of his hold, wheezing in a breath he couldn’t quite catch and letting Captain Kidd disappear back into the depth of his soul with it. He felt weak-- he _was_ weak. His legs were jelly and he couldn’t break eye contact with himself. 

Akira did it for him. They shared a nod before Akira turned to face the other way. His shoulders drooped, head lowered. Ryuji was a little relieved to not have to look at himself anymore. 

He heard Akira sigh, “ _Arsene.”_

His voice broke. 

Ryuji recognized the persona, it was the one Akira summoned when he saved them in Kamoshida’s Palace. There was more of it than there was of Captain Kidd, a little more tangible except for where it was fading at the feet. 

And unlike Captain Kidd, Arsene spoke. 

“You have… called upon me once more.” The persona’s voice was deep enough to rumble through the floor, though it was too weak to evoke any other feeling in Ryuji other than… fear. He was terrified, he could feel it in the way his limbs stormed in misplaced anticipation for something to happen to one of them, to drop down to the floor or lose their personas or confirm they would never switch back. 

He could only recall how sweeping Arsene’s presence felt when Akira summoned him in the prison cell for the first time, powerful and fiery and truly something from the depths of Hell. It was combined with Ryuji’s relief of not dying, but something else lingered in the way his stomach stirred at it that took all but a couple of months to figure out. 

Now, Arsene lacked the strength Ryuji remembered. He was doubled over, curled in on himself as he floated in the air. 

“I departed with promise to return, but the circumstances… they are less than fortunate.”

Akira seemed to be frozen. Arsene barely emitted enough light to cast a wispy glow around Akira’s silhouette. All hunched shoulders and a dropped head. 

“Your…” Arsene struggled. “Your will dims with every breath you take outside your… your place of consciousness. 

His words traveled through Ryuji’s veins like ice. 

“S-Seven,” Akira said breathlessly, “We’ll switch in-- in three more days right? We’ll switch?”

Arsene languidly lowered his head. He didn’t have any more answers than Morgana did. “I’m afraid that’s all I have.”

Seven. Seven days, they already got through four, nearing the end of it already. Arsene had until the end of their trial, who knew what that _possibly_ meant for Captain Kidd, but Ryuji supposed it didn’t matter, did it?

Arsene flickered away until it was just Ryuji and Akira, stuck in place staring at the wall where Arsene floated seconds before. 

Ryuji couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do much of anything, he wouldn’t--

Before he could think too hard about it, Akira collapsed to the ground.

\-----

Ryuji dragged his own body out of the Metaverse. Eyes closed, almost… _Almost_ lifeless. 

Ryuji immediately let Akira fall back onto his bed after Ryuji got him to the attic. He placed a finger under his nose to make sure Akira was even breathing. 

His head swam in nausea and he barely stumbled to Leblanc's bathroom downstairs in time to throw up into the toilet.

He couldn’t feel his legs, he couldn’t-- he couldn’t feel anything except for the sting of acid shredding his throat and god, he was tired. Ryuji could have fallen asleep right there, he really could have, but the porcelain of the toilet was cold and probably filthy and the floor couldn’t have possibly been any better. He’d have to wash out the taste of puke in his mouth anyway, maybe brush it out of his teeth. It would have to linger in his throat for now.

Going up stairs was much harder than flying down them was. Ryuji could barely maintain a steady grip on the banister, nor could he manage more than a measly shuffle up the stairs, but when he got to the top he caught sight of Akira trying to push himself up onto his elbows. 

“Ryu...?”

“Easy, easy cowboy,” Ryuji hoarsely said, his previous exhaustion momentarily forgotten in favor of rushing over to Akira. 

Akira squinted and flopped back onto the bed. “Cowboy?” he mumbled, throwing an arm over his eyes to shield himself from the streetlight streaming in through the window. 

“Yeah, _cowboy_. Country boy,” Ryuji vaguely responded. He grabbed his phone to text his mom that he was staying over, because there was no way in _hell_ Akira was making it back to his apartment without passing out on the way, let it be damned his mom catch him and suspect Ryuji of anything more unsavory than what he was already involved with. Underground vigilante work was one thing, but passing out on the stairs leading up to the apartment was a whole other matter. 

It was Saturday anyways. They could afford to sleep in the next morning. 

“Sleep here.” Akira’s mutter was almost muddled enough for Ryuji to have half a mind to ask him to repeat it, but Akira rolled to the side so that Ryuji had space to lie down at the edge of the mattress. 

“You sure, man?” Ryuji tried to argue, but his heavy limbs were already convinced enough. It might have helped that Akira peaked out from behind his arm to send him a pointed _look_ , and Ryuji collapsed onto the bed before his mind could warn him of every single reason why he shouldn’t. 

Ryuji stayed on his back. In any other circumstance he would have turned onto his side to look at their leader, but he wasn’t looking to gaze at his own face. Akira’s shoulders brushed his. If he closed his eyes and got lost in his head, he could imagine they were themselves, even if it was only for a little. He was thankful for their lack in height difference. 

Akira sighed, shaky and quiet. He must have figured out that if he whispered, it wouldn’t have broken the scene they had in their heads. The far, far away scene. “I can’t sleep.”

“You’re tired, ‘Kira, you should--”

“No, no. You-- your body, it doesn’t sleep. You don’t sleep, I can’t fall asleep ‘til four in the morning, I’m so tired.” 

If Ryuji knew his sleeping habits would have ever affected Akira negatively, he would have invested in a supply of melatonin early on. 

“Oh, geez, my bad." 

Akira rolled over and Ryuji could feel the bed dip as he did. He sent their leader a glance, only to see that his body was on his side to face him, eyes screwed shut. That… made more sense to do than Ryuji would have liked to admit. He did the same, closing his eyes before the sight of himself got him nauseous all over again. They were close, close enough to be sharing the same air. Ryuji willed his heart to calm down, fuck, not _then_. 

“I’m getting too used to this. To being _you_.” 

And Ryuji was so selfish, _so_ fucking selfish to have been thinking about their proximity, to have gotten off in Akira’s body, to have been getting _comfortable_. He was a little more than settled into Akira’s skin, enough to let it slip his mind that he wasn’t himself. Enough for Akira’s bodily routine to overpower Ryuji’s consciousness, his perception. 

It was _selfish_ , especially when Akira’s voice was broken and wispy, something akin to choked up, and Ryuji wanted to punch himself in the face. Or, wait. He didn’t want to bruise Akira’s face, or make him feel pain in Ryuji’s body… 

Ryuji got lost in his own head again. Fuck. 

“I… know what you mean.” It was lame, but it was all he could come up with on the spot. He wasted a few seconds before responding as it was. 

Akira murmured, voice a little thicker than it was before, “Arsene…” 

“We’re gonna be alright.” 

“You’re so sure, ‘Yuji.” 

“I-I think… we’ve gotten so lucky. Everything, everything we’ve done as thieves, it was work but also luck. I don’t think it’s running out any time soon.” 

“... Just luck.”

Of course, Akira wasn’t easily swayed, not with something so arbitrary. 

Ryuji continued, still whispering but a little more confident, “And you, man, you’ve been to hell and back. You’re… You’re strong. Uh, we’re strong, I guess, but you-- I know if anyone has this, it’s you.”

Ryuji could feel Akira nod from where his head half-rested on the pillow, but he knew it wasn’t enough. 

“And I’m here with you, right?” he added on. “You always think you gotta do everything by yourself, but… I’ll never leave your side. Us against the world, you know.”

It worked, at least enough for Akira to shift his weight forward and hesitantly tuck his head under Ryuji’s chin. Ryuji let his eyes fly open, but he was only met with the blonde of his short hair at the bottom of his vision and the wall of the attic next to the bed. 

His body needed a second to catch up to his brain, suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation of a grounding weight at his chest as Akira nestled closer, before screwing his eyes shut and, fuck it, wrapping his arm over Akira’s shoulder to keep him in place. His other hand was trapped between them, hovering over Akira’s heartbeat. Right, if he closed his eyes, relaxed enough, it was _Akira_. 

“You and me…” It was barely a whisper, barely anything tangible in the too-still air. He could have imagined it. 

Akira got himself comfortable in Ryuji’s chest. He was probably too tired to stop himself, Ryuji knew. To realize the things he was doing to his best friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wriitng igor was a bitch and i definitely didn't get him right but fuck it was so fun writing a character who can use these long words and be vague, the ideal character to write  
> ryuji and i share not being able to comfort people properly hhhh  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing/status/1286110002105798656?s=20)


	10. Thrift Stores Have Less Baggage Than Ryuji Sakamoto

Morgana nearly shrieked when he padded into the attic through the open window to find Ryuji (and more shockingly Akira?) still in bed, fast asleep like it wasn’t nearing three in the afternoon, never mind the compromising position their unconscious selves got into. They were curled up into each other in a confusing tangle of limbs, one leg indistinguishable from the other sticking out of the mess of sheets. 

Akira left soon after Morgana clawed them awake, after they ate breakfast curry that was far too cold. Quietly. Neither wanted to utter a word. Morgana might have given them a look or two for it, but he must have understood. There wasn’t much to figure out, though, it wasn’t like it was difficult. 

Ryuji hadn't slept so well in his life. 

Akira gave him a hug in the attic, too quick in the face of Morgana’s prying eyes. It burned holes into Ryuji’s shirt, enough for his daze to not quite leave him. Akira’s-- Ryuji's--eyes were lined dark, too dark under his lower lashes, enough for Ryuji to want to step back and wonder if he had ever seen himself look so exhausted before. 

He floated around the attic when he was left alone, Morgana’s head cocked to the side while he watched him pace. He had half a mind to go back to bed, but his arm stung as soon as the thought came to mind in reminder of what the cat would have to say about wasting the day away. 

Ryuji looked over at the bike still sitting in the corner of the room, covered in tarp whenever he wasn’t messing around with it. He would have time to tinker around in its problem areas after finishing up school things, but he was beyond doing any work on the bike without buying new parts for it. 

It was nearing four but the day wasn’t over yet, he supposed. It would have been a great time to go out to Kichijoji and stop by a part store, maybe get to do some shopping for Akira at the thrift store he frequented. Yeah. That would get his mind off things. 

\-----

Kichijoji was as bustling as ever for a Sunday, especially as evening neared. Ryuji threw on whatever he could find of Akira’s clothes that would hide his frame, a zip up whose hood he could pull up to hide his signature unruly hair and a pair of sweatpants, as insufferable as it would be in the heat. He wasn’t looking to bump into anyone Akira knew, much less stumble through a conversation he’d wince at later. 

Ryuji found a second hand parts stand nestled between the back of two buildings, weaseling himself between the hordes of people weaving through the narrow alleyways to find it. He had to get a few new parts for the bike, thankfully just enough to warrant a repair instead of buying an entirely new bike. He understood why Sojiro probably never bothered with it, the man having been too busy with taking care of Futaba and running the cafe to bother with it, but Ryuji was just lucky that Sojiro stored it away instead of throwing it out. It must have been a project for later, but Ryuji didn’t feel too bad for taking the liberty to do it himself.

He rustled through the crowded bins on the stand and found what he needed for relatively cheap, down to new foam handle covers. Ryuji was good at haggling, even when the situation didn’t warrant it, so he managed to get a decent discount on everything he picked out just from the sheer amount of it. 

He left the booth feeling decent, with a stuffed plastic bag that clanged loudly with every step he took. So much for not drawing attention to himself. 

Morgana saved himself from the jarring noise and burrowed into the very bottom of the bag Ryuji had thrown over his shoulder. 

It was off to the thrift store he went, then. There was one hidden in a messy junction of overlapping buildings, entrance in an alleyway only a local would know about and popular enough with the small group of regulars from Harajuku for the clothes to be interesting. Ryuji’s mom knew the owner, having become familiar with how often they visited. As a kid Ryuji regularly ripped up the knees of his pants and wore out the ends of his sleeves to a point of needing them to be regularly replaced, and their budget only allowed so many name brand replacements. 

It was familiar. Familiar, jarringly familiar. The store bell jangled like always upon his arrival, the elderly cashier greeted him with a smile, and Ryuji had to resist the urge to respond with anything he normally would have-- a friendly hello, maybe ask how the kids were. 

He made a beeline for the rack of clothes nearest to him instead. 

He was almost grateful for the discomfort in his chest when he was forced to remember that he wasn’t Ryuji, technically. With their visit to the Metaverse, he became more conscious of every movement he made with his hands, how Akira’s nails weren’t blunt and bitten like his, how every step he took was another step with Akira’s legs. His knee, which didn’t sprout up in shooting pain every time he moved, the only constant he ever knew. 

It didn’t take long to find clothes Akira might like. All a little plain but clean in their own way, all interesting hems and fitted waistlines. Enough to give a second glance, _far_ from boring, kind of like Akira. Ryuji threw in a couple of basketball shorts in there too, the guy didn’t need any more pants. 

It passed by in a blur, Morgana purring at his shoulder about what Akira would like and Ryuji floating on his own. He wasn't really there, far from the store and the cashier who rang up the clothes. Maybe he was in the Metaverse, or his apartment, in bed. Maybe he would wake up and no one would know about what he was talking about if he mentioned anything about a switch. 

Geez, he was-- he was gone. It was different from when he usually zoned out, when he lost himself at the beginning of the switch. Not dissociation, it was… he didn’t know where he was. His eyes registered, his legs moved on their own accord, but it felt like only a few seconds passed from when he walked into the store and when he left, only difference being his arm weighed down with a new bag. Hopefully Akira liked what he could remember picking out. Maybe Ryuji bought some pieces just to see what Akira would look like in them, it was all flitting behind his eyelids. 

It could have been Akira’s body adapting to its usual routine. It could have been. 

Kichijoji bustled around, disregarding its interruption frozen on the side of the street. No one knew, _they couldn’t have_ , not about the metaverse the phantom thieves the switch the--

The air shattered when Ryuji heard the familiar voice, “Oh, Senpai! I didn’t think I’d see you here today!” 

She looked pretty, she always did. Hair still tied, uniform replaced with a summery looking dress, smiling as wide as the ocean. 

“Hi, Yoshizawa.” With as much enthusiasm as he could muster. His lips cracked when he smiled. 

“C’mon, what did I say?,” she laughed, “Call me Kasumi, we’ve been over this. Always so formal!”

She was teasing, and Ryuji… oh. First names? 

\-----

Ryuji fully came to when someone bumped into the cafe chair he was sitting in. Right, he recalled, Kasumi invited him to a cafe nearby for a drink and a talk. He floated down back into his head when Kasumi asked him what he thought he was going to order, and awareness hit him like a truck. The cock of Kasumi’s head and her furrowed brows, the hustle and bustle of the cafe rivaling that of the street outside, it all crashed into his head like a wave that had been rising for miles. He couldn't stop it-- flitting in and out of his head, of using his arms. 

“You’ve been out of it all week, Senpai-- Are you worried about the school trip?”

What _wasn’t_ he worried about? “Not really,” he responded, avoiding her gaze. How many times have they even talked before? He didn’t know. “It’s been… a long week.”

Kasumi leaned back in her seat, another question at the tip of her tongue when a waitress came over to their table to ask for their order. Ryuji got whatever Kasumi ordered, prompting another worried look from her, which was… weird. 

“Forgive me for prying Senpai, but… You know you can trust me. Y-You’ve been such a help, and your training is going great, I just-- I’d hate to imagine you’re struggling on your own.”

And what the hell was Ryuji supposed to say to that? It was-- help? Training, what type of training could Akira possibly have been doing outside of the Metaverse, without the team? To hell with that, Akira was _far from alone, so why would she even think_ \--?!

_Hand_. There was, there was a hand. On top of his. Tiny and warm and soft and Ryuji was brought back from his internal rant to ruby red eyes and it made sense. It fell into place, the softness in her gaze, blurry around the edges, but that might have just been his own vision. 

She was perfect. Sweet, innocent, probably taught Akira how to do those flashy flips he pulled in the Metaverse. She looked at him widely, like Akira was the entire earth and moon and stars, but his hand when numb under hers, it flashed with overbearing heat and if he wasn’t staring at it, he would have believed his fingers were on fire. A burn, a branding he couldn’t _possibly_ stand. 

And Ryuji was gone, not in his head. He was-- the chair scraped as he pushed it back-- he was leaving. Vaguely recalled pulling the money for the drink out of his pocket and dumping it out on the table, followed by a fountain of spare coins that clanged too loudly and he definitely had more than a few eyes on him. Morgana was scratching at his back, murmuring something resembling sense into his ear but the door of the cafe wooshed closed behind the shell of his ear and his legs were already taking him in the direction of the train station. 

His- not _his_ legs- Akira’s legs. He was Akira, Mograna wouldn’t stop clawing his shoulder, he couldn’t breathe. It was so stupid, so, so stupid, a _Garu_ straight to his lungs, and he recognized it. The slam of the front door when dad was angry, the deafening crash of a chair being kicked over in the PE office. Clouding, hazy and stormy, it was getting caught in the back of his throat. 

“Ryuji, _Ryuji_ , what the hell?” 

Right, Ryuji. He was…

He’d have to apologize. To Kasumi, to Akira, for messing everything up, as he always did. He was always apologizing. He reacted without thinking, he was… just like his dad. 

Yeah. He was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the choppy, weirdness is intentional and i hope it translated, if it didn't let me know!!  
> Anyway! Akira’s gonna be taking over the next two chapters, i’ve written a whole lotta ryuji-centric chapters already. forewarning though, next weeks update is gonna be pushed back to the week after, i've been super busy and this upcoming week is pegoryu week, so i'll be uploading every day for that and i hope it makes up for the lack of update next week. take care!  
> i keep on plugging my twitter but if you havent given in and followed it yet i dont know what to tell you


	11. Let's Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuji's in need of a fresh dye job, a process Akira has to endure. Like the first time, Akira finds it difficult to keep quiet around Aiko.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read: sorry it's been a while! i know i said weekly updates, but i jammed out four one shots for pegoryu week in five days and i suffered major major burnout and that was a month ago so... anyways. honestly, this is the only chapter of this fic that i've had a tough time writing, and im not really sure why. im stoked to upload the rest though!
> 
> having said that, updates from now on will be every two weeks. classes have started up again so finding the time to write has been a little more difficult, so it's time to retire the weekly updates tag for the fic (even if i technically should have done it a month ago oops)
> 
> anyways! before i shut up, im so happy about the attention this has recieved! 3k hits is insane in my book, and i hope i haven't let too many people down with my mini hiatus. please enjoy!

Akira’s legs felt like jelly. There was another dull throb at his bad knee-- _don’t trip don’t trip don’t trip._

When he was fully back in his head, his hand was on Ryuji’s apartment door knob. He was back from Sojiro’s curry, back from the way the smell of coffee attacked his senses more than comforted them when the senses weren’t his own. Ryuji never liked coffee, no matter how hard Akira tried to adapt him to its taste. 

He grew comfortable navigating Ryuji’s apartment-- It wasn’t exactly like he had a choice. Aiko worked throughout the day and was barely home, leaving Akira to poke around every corner he could weasel himself into as he pleased, thank you. 

If a good amount of that time was spent with his eyes grazing over the photo wall behind the couch, Akira wouldn’t ever admit it. 

Except, when he floated into the living room that time, Aiko was on the couch instead of away at work for the first time since Akira came there. She was watching something on TV, but her attention flew up upon Akira’s arrival and a wide smile spread over her face. 

“Ryuji!” she exclaimed, straightening up from where she sat and opening her arms up wide. “I’ve got all the things to dye your hair, and I don’t leave for work until later. You up to it?” 

Akira brought his hand up to touch the hair on the back of Ryuji’s head. It was a little longer than usual, the roots already growing in black, Akira tugged on it easily enough. Maybe he’d do Ryuji a favor.

\-----

The stool they dragged into the tiny bathroom was cold under Akira, hard enough to ground him, to keep him aware of what he should be focusing on. He shifted his gaze away from where he sat in front of the mirror and chose instead to peer at Aiko, who was hovering over his head from behind as she examined his hair in concentration. 

“Alright, the usual. Pass me the bleach.” 

Akira blankly stared at the plastic cups and tubes of various formulas that made up the now-empty hair dye box that was tipped over on the sink, but he hadn’t a clue about what any of it was. Aiko would pass him a cup full of something to mix after measuring it all out, and he complied without much thought. 

“The first one, hon. Brush too.” 

Right. He passed both over to her, and soon felt the cool line of thin metal run between his hair, it was from the clip Aiko was using to section his short hair off. 

“You okay, Ryuji?” 

Was he? _Was_ Akira okay? He wanted to give a Ryuji answer- _needed_ to give a Ryuji answer- but he breathed out long and wispy and forced himself to look at himself. Ryuji. In the scuffed up mirror. His stomach shriveled up around the breakfast he had mere hours ago, and his mouth salivated something worrying when he met Ryuji’s chocolate brown eyes. Odd to think that, a few days ago, he was so _excited_ about being switched. To look at Ryuji’s freckles in the mirror for as long as he wanted, whenever he wanted. 

Except, Ryuji’s abysmal sleep schedule, combined with the continuous growth of uneasiness that came with invading a body that wasn’t his own proved to pale Akira beyond recognition and it threw all other positive prospects down the drain. Ryuji’s freckles had faded, as did the brightness in his eyes after the third night Akira spent staring at his ceiling until four in the morning because Ryuji’s body clock didn’t want to _sleep yet, fuck_. 

Akira was just… tired. He was already tired of being _Akira,_ but he would have rather been rushing around to all his little off ball jobs than feel anxious every time he thought about Arsene, than biting down a reaction every time he shifted his left leg wrong. Ryuji must have been used to the constant pain, but Akira sure as hell wasn’t.

“You’re disappearing on me, hon.” 

Right, he was-- _bathroom_ , Aiko bleaching his hair. 

His scalp felt moist, and he looked at it in the mirror to see that most of the bleach solution was coating the portion of Ryuji’s hair that had grown out. Aiko leaned back onto the wall with her gloved hands resting on her hips, examining her dye job. A second later, her heavy gaze raked down Akira’s face and he watched how her eyebrows furrowed, how the lines on her forehead settled into deep, narrow ravines. 

“It’s been a long week,” Akira sighed, tried to inject a little bit of a smile in his words. He added as an afterthought, “Mom.” 

Bad idea, _bad idea_. Aiko’s gaze turned into a peer, a very slanted, _accusatory_ look at him. He was lying through his teeth after all, though it was brought into question whether or not Aiko just had heightened mom senses or Akira was being obvious. It was most likely a little bit of both, if Akira had to guess. 

“You _look_ tired, Ryuji. I’m used to hearing your games through the walls, but… you’ve been radio silent all week.” Her voice was heart achingly soft. She shuffled forward and ran a hand down the side of his face. Fingers just featherlight enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. Her other hand took rest on his shoulder. Heavy as a bag of lead. 

“Sorry” was all he had to offer. 

“I know.” _Did she_? Aiko continued, “What’s on your mind?” 

“A lot.” 

“It is?”

“...Yeah.”

“We have forty minutes for the bleach, hon. You want to talk?” 

Akira wasn’t sure if he did. Though, Aiko’s eyes held something fractured and Akira didn’t think he had too much of a choice when it came down to it. Aiko had that type of power over Akira. Though, it could very well have been Ryuji’s body and mind automatically responding to a mother's love. 

Akira sighed, “I _am_ tired, I guess. I... have so much on my mind. I need to help all these people, I-I _need_ to, and I don't..." 

The edge of the sink was chipped, barely a ridge in the porcelain. Akira stretched his hand out to rub his thumb along it.

"I got a chance to forget about it for a little bit. I didn't have to worry about leading and helping and... People _rely_ on me, b-but..." Akira trailed off, before dryly laughing and retracting his hand. "I live for other people. If I'm not keeping busy, I go out and find someone who needs my help-- I'm so _exhausted."_

"I finally get a break and nothing changed, i-it got _worse_. I feel like... some imposter."

Akira supposed, in a sense, he was. Always the hero, someone in the team once said in passing, and they all laughed about it. 

Akira's control over his filter always diminished around Aiko, and he had a bad feeling he knew the reason why. Ryuji was always a mama's boy. 

Akira said too much, he also realized. Aiko sighed something heavy and Akira retreated from his head to gauge her reaction. 

With her thin eyebrows furrowed, Aiko's gaze on him was analyzing him like she would a math problem. Her eyes darted up and down her son's face, looking at how pale he had become and the darkness that grew under his eyes like she was seeing it for the first time. Vaguely, Akira wondered if she figured it all out. That, somehow, she knew... something. She had to have grown more suspicious, if anything. 

"You're not in a gang, are you?" Was the first thing she asked. 

Akira's heart halted with a screeching stop. _What?_

"What?" he vocalized.

Aiko's expression was, unfortunately, blank when she repeated, "Are you in a gang?" 

Akira couldn't sputter out faster, "No, no, _what_? What the hel-- _No_." It was part out of embarrassment for Aiko to have even gotten on that type of train of thought, and part to save Ryuji's ass while he could. 

"I just," Aiko began, expression cracking into her features. She looked like she believed him though, her question most likely having been out of a need to confirm the worst thing she could think of. "Sorry. It sounded like it. A mother needs to ask." 

Akira breathed, "Alright." He was suddenly winded. 

Aiko continued with a puff of amused breath. "I... don't know what you've been up to lately. I know I'm at work a lot, and I don't ask, and... I'm sorry, bear." 

Akira's eyes blew wide with a stark realization that he had somehow been able to pass his turmoil as a feasible Ryuji struggle. Just as he was going to shake off his vent with a wave of a hand and insistence that he would return to his normal self in a couple of days, Aiko had once again caught Akira off guard. With the apparent nickname she had for Ryuji, and with her pliancy. 

Aiko chewed on the inside of her cheek, mulling over the right thing to say. "You're strong, Ryuji. I know that as your mother, but I know it because I know _you_. You're, you're determined, and stubborn, and you... you always try to protect everything you love. I think... I think you live for yourself, though. In the little moments. Ramen, track. I-- Track has always been... tricky, but you'd run and run and... never for anyone else. You lead your teammates for you, because you... feel good knowing they're improving, but you don't have to. There was a time before that when you didn't have to, and you still did all the little things then. I think-- maybe you just... need to find those little things again and make them bigger things.”

Aiko's words held a quiet resolve to them, like she couldn't possibly believe anything else otherwise. She spoke to her son with such an unmovable will, and as badly as Akira wanted to take them to heart, he knew he would be even more of an imposter to do so. 

He mulled over her words anyways. It was difficult to remember all the little things when he had to single them out, but he supposed-- yes, maybe there were a couple. He enjoyed making his own coffee in the morning, and he liked to read all the books he signed out of the school library. 

But Akira learned how to make coffee to make Sojiro happy when he demonstrated that he could, and Morgana was the one who primary nagged on him about reading to stay sharp. 

Akira's life in the countryside, before arrest and eternal shame, was merely a blur. Akira was a shell of his old self, thin and brittle and hanging onto whatever approval from others he could latch onto. It was validity he craved, something to confirm his existence wasn't pathetic enough to not warrant him any space. It could have been the absence of it from his parents, and as soon as he got the first taste of reliance, he was hooked like it was a drug.

But...

But. 

Akira almost shot out of his seat when there was a tap to his shoulder. His bones jumped out of his skin, crawling with the sensation of being watched, until he gathered enough rationality to glance up and lock eyes with Aiko's crinkled gaze. 

"What's going on in that head of yours?" 

A lot, he wanted to say. Instead, he shrugged. "I'll be fine in a couple of days," he muttered. He would. 

Aiko's frown deepened. "You're allowed to feel upset, Ryuji. It's not something you have to go through alone." 

Maybe it was the tone of her voice, or the gentle tilt of her head, or how Akira was overwhelmed with being alone but not lonely in that single moment. He didn't want to cry, but emotion welled in his chest like a thunderous cloud in a clear night sky. As often as he questioned it all, he... did have friends. True friends, teammates. A mother’s love was enough to cement something new in the crevice where his own mothers didn’t lie.

"Right." His voice was barely audible over the clanky whir of the bathroom fan that did little to filter out the smell of bleach in the oppressive air, promptly reminding Akira of just where he was, _who_ he was. Ryuji, with bleach sitting in his short hair for who knew how long already. His scalp tingled.

Aiko must have sensed that Akira wasn't willing to talk about it any longer and cleared her throat. "You have a little longer for the bleach, the alarms on your phone, you know the drill. I'll leave you to it, if you'd like. I need to make lunch for tomorrow." 

Akira nodded, and Aiko was shuffling out of the bathroom with the click of the door behind her a moment later. The stuffy air didn't let up at the absence, but Akira hadn't expected it to. 

He searched up what exactly the "drill" was when it came to bleaching ones hair, figured out it was just washing it out, and checked his phone's timer. He had twenty five minutes holed up in the bathroom, all to himself. 

Akira was terribly, terribly, exhausted. He was still shaken up from seeing Arsene so... powerless. The Persona was far from the harbringer of Hell he knew it to be, a barely permeable state of affairs that was awfully metaphorical, yet Akira couldn't analyze it past the crushing fear it put in his chest. Switching-- he expected some awkward moments with Ryuji's mom, maybe having fun trying to navigate Ryuji's classes. As always, it had to be so much _more._

It was circumstance Akira couldn't laugh off, not when their Personas were at stake, and not when there was some force in the universe hellbent on trying to correct the mess the shadow made, and Akira knew that something was wrong. Ryuji must have been feeling the same, in the way that Akira would zone out and when he came to he'd have a volume of manga in his hand he didn’t remember picking up, or he would have been halfway to walking into the living room when he could hear Aiko there. Their bodies took a mind of their own. It was muscle memory for their brains, and they were simple passerbys who happened to be strapped in for the ride. 

Stupid shadows. It always started with a stupid _shadow_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, hope that wasn't too bad, i wrote it all at four in the morning last night and im just trying to get out of this writing funk because im excited for the next chapters. 
> 
> also! next chapter wont be long, but... its gonna be another spicy one. i promised akira's own,, boy time, didn't i? i hope itll make up for not updating for a little while!! im the most excited for chapter 13 and 14 honestly.


	12. Soft Hair and Not-So-Soft... Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, okay, another self indulgent chapter. technically i dont NEED these chapters but honestly it's my fic and i kinda wanna put them in to make it worth my while, that's all. if you're not into it, that's cool, just start reading after the ----- break in the chapter n please dont come for me thank you.

Akira felt his weary bones ache when he stepped into the cramped shower of Ryuji’s bathroom. 

The water was already running warm when Akira got his legs under the weak pressure of the stream, though it took a few minutes beforehand to figure out what the loose knobs on the wall did. It wasn’t like he could ask, really, so he struggled and struggled and the water was a little too hot for his tastes (though that very well could have been a result of being in Ryuji’s body; he always ran a little warm). 

Akira’s mind, as it usually did when he wasn’t occupied, drifted to Ryuji. How he was faring, what he could have been up to in the dusty attic of LeBlanc. The thoughts cascaded down his-- _Ryuji’s_ \-- back like the water that eased his shoulders and clouded his vision, slightly. 

He carefully tipped his head back into the water to wash out the bleach. Ryuji’s hair was soft under his fingers, without gel and whatever the hell Ryuji caked into it to give it its usual shape; Akira gave up on attempting to replicate it after the first day of the switch, when he was too anxious about getting to school on time to put as much care into it as he imagined Ryuji did. While he worked the bleach out, his fingers ran through it as easily as it was to run his hand down his body. 

_Ryuji’s_ body. 

Scratch that-- Ryuji’s _toned_ body.

Akira had no grounds to criticize anyone's posture when his own was god awful, but it really was a shame that Ryuji slouched as much as he did, because if he straightened out a little he’d probably get all the girls he wouldn’t stop raving about. His build was skinny, but his shoulders were strong, presumably from swinging around his signature pipe in the Metaverse. Ryuji’s arms had to have been stronger then they looked as well, because Akira had them up so he could card his fingers through Ryuji’s hair for far longer then he needed and they felt completely fine. In his own body, Akira had to take breaks while shampooing his too-thick hair just because of how his arms would ache after working the shampoo into his scalp. 

The Metaverse had done them all more than a couple of favors. Akira could see it in Ann’s firm shoulders, and Yusuke’s calves turning more muscle than bone.

More importantly, he could feel it on Ryuji’s stomach. Ryuji was too skinny for abs, but they were hidden somewhere under his taut skin, and Akira’s hand was all lathered up from the shampoo he just squirted into his hand and it ran so smoothly over the clear skin, and he was… oh. 

Hard. 

In Ryuji’s body. 

The sudden inexplicable urge to touch Ryuji’s dick washed over Akira’s conscious faster than the impending mortification of the entire situation, a fact that should have worried him more than it did. 

It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before; In short, Ryuji had a talent for popping boners at the worst of times (which, in Akira’s case, was every single time it happened because he couldn’t _do_ anything about it). 

In long, Akira was _tired_ of blue balling himself every night in his self afflicted abstinence. Of defiantly staring into space every time it happened, desperately thinking about every unsexy thing in the universe: paint drying, accordions, Morgana. Akira had resorted to taking makeshift sink-showers the entire week to avoid the “getting naked” part, because who knew what would happen _then_ , and…

Well. Now he _did_ know.

And it was becoming very difficult to avoid paying it any mind. 

Had Ryuji given in? Akira knew his body, and he knew he rarely had any alone time to himself nowadays. He might have raised some tolerance against it just because of how sparingly he divulged in his own needs, but Ryuji evidently… hadn’t. 

But it sent a shiver up Akira’s spine when he came to the realization that Ryuji _could_ have. Would he have? Where would it be? Like Akira would, when Morgana wanted to explore the city on his own at night and it would leave Akira with the attic all to himself for a couple of hours? Or would it be like other times, hastily taking care of himself in the bathroom when it had gotten particularly bad? 

Akira wasn’t a narcissist, but he became overwhelmed with obsession with how Ryuji perceived _him_ ; _his_ body, _his_ cock. If Ryuji got it over with, eyes concentrated away out of respect for Akira…

Did Akira care about respect anymore?

He didn’t, he decided, when he registered that Ryuji also could have taken his time. He could have stolen a moment away, just to tease every reaction out of Akira’s body, explore it for everything it was worth while he could. Though, that could have very well been wishful thinking, Akira knew. 

Akira’s fingers were brushing down Ryuji’s length before he could argue with himself for another minute against it. 

He wouldn’t look. It was the very, _very_ least he could do, but it provided him a miniscule amount of reassurance that he _wasn’t_ breaking the only rule they established, he _wasn’t_ violating his best friend's body, he was just… taking care of himself. Of _Ryuji_ , whose body was clearly reacting to not having gotten off in a few days.

Very least he could do. 

The first touch was _electrifying_ (no persona related pun intended). Akira arched his back into the loose grip of his hand, it being little to provide any relief but enough to send pleasure zapping down his limbs like something too akin to tiny, invigorating Lichtenberg figures. It was easy to block out all of his guilty mantras and thoughts of impending doom when he tried another stroke downward with enough pressure to really wipe out any notion that didn’t involve chasing his own pleasure. 

Or, Ryuji’s pleasure?

Akira supposed it didn’t exactly matter, though it could have been the dick talking. The combination of it-- Ryuji’s body, his cock, and Akira’s attraction to it all-- the steam from the shower was fogging up in inhibitions as well. 

It wasn’t a good idea to be doing this when he was so emotionally vulnerable. 

But the concern became Akira’s final one when he felt himself _buzz._ He wouldn’t look at Ryuji cock but, god, he became hyper aware of how it _felt._ Far more veiny than his own, heavy in his palm. Akira gained some animalistic urge to speed up the pace of his hand while the other trailed up his chest, an instinct he--

Jackpot. 

So, Ryuji had sensitive nipples. Akira wasn’t sure what exactly he could have done with the new found information other than abuse it for all it was worth while he could-- which entailed not-so-gently tugging on one nub while he kept up his pace with the other hand.

It was a combination of all that wound the knot at the pit of his stomach-- how Akira’s mouth was parted open in a silent pant while heavy air passed through his lungs, how he knew that he couldn’t spend too long in the shower or else Aiko would get suspicious. 

His mind carried a mindless mantra of _Ryuji, Ryuji, Ryuji_. His hips were erratically jerking into his hand while the other worked circles into the swollen nubs on his chest. Embarrassingly enough, it was taking slightly longer to get off in Ryuji’s body than it did his-- but that final, final reminder that he was getting Ryuji off--

Akira slowly worked himself through his orgasm, shoulder against the cold tile of the wall, while slightly hunched over himself in an effort to cease the wobble of his knees. He was lucky he could wash his spend off the tiles, because Ryuji was pent the fuck up, apparently. Akira’s vision was spotty the entire time, and he was positively shaking with the twinge of overstimulation when he was sure he could slow his roll and regain a sense of his inhibitions. 

He was still hazy, though. Aiming the showerhead at the wall, lathering another round of body wash on him to be safe, finally stepping out of the steaming shower and into the slightly cooler bathroom air. The mirror was too fogged up to make out anything other than a vague, skin colored blob. He was fortunate that that was all he got, because he wasn’t sure if he could have had another round and not be spending more of a suspiciously long time in the bathroom than he already was. 

Akira dried himself off and got dressed feeling _great._

\-----

And then he didn’t feel so great. 

Akira left the bathroom and immediately shuffled into Ryuji’s room before he had to make direct contact with Aiko. She yelled something out from the kitchen asking about his hair, and he shouted back something nonsensical about it looking fine even if he hadn’t technically seen it yet. Luckily, she must have sensed that he was too spent to offer any other emotional availability, because she decided to leave him alone at the moment. 

Akira didn’t know which one he would have wanted-- for Aiko to want to talk to him some more, or for her to have left him alone. 

On one hand, he didn’t have to look her in the eye. He didn’t think he had it in him to stand it without apologizing profusely, but on the other hand, it left him to think. 

To spiral, like he was then. 

Akira… _did that_. He couldn’t-- he didn’t want to really think of the specifics, but _god,_ he couldn’t have even explained how it happened even if he had to. God, Aiko-- if she knew he… _violated_ her son-- _fuck_. 

Guilty didn’t even begin to describe it. 

He collapsed onto the edge of Ryuji’s bed, eyes sweeping over his room. Akira had admittedly cleaned it up a little more than he thought he would out of a sheer need to keep busy and be of some use: He got most of Ryuji’s laundry done and hung neatly into his closet, his strewn manga volumes back onto their respective shelves, and generally tidied up the rest of the small space. It was embarrassing enough having turned into a depressed househusband during the switch, but after Akira finished his school work he itched for something, anything to keep himself occupied. 

Though, admiring his handy cleaning work could only keep him distracted for so long. 

His mind trailed back to what he… did. In Ryuji’s body. Cleaned, did his homework, masturbated, god. The guilt gnawed at his ribs more than he expected it would, but with mulling over his guilt came a reminder of how _good_ it felt. That was at the time, sure, but his limbs still tingled with some fucked-up, muddled afterglow about the matter. Still, Akira knew what he had to do to make it even a little better. He valued his and Ryuji's friendship more than he did pride, and he was aware it was built on more trust than he could imagine.

He picked his phone up from Ryuji's nightstand. 

**Akira:** Hey. Don’t be mad but

**ryuji:** shoot

Akira got to typing his guilty confession before Ryuji’s chat bubbles flew up a second later and he paused to see what Ryuji had to say. 

**ryuji:** wait 

**ryuji:** dont be mad???!

**ryuji:** does it involve my dick

Guilty as charged; Akira sunk in on himself, heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. He lahf-prepared himself for the general grossed out-edness Ryuji would give him, probably grouped together with a few choice insults, and the subsequent end of their friendship. Regardless, Akira stared down the glaring question on his screen and knew his prolonged silence was enough of an answer already. 

**Akira:** Maybe 

**Akira:** Listen

**Akira** : Listen listen

**Akira** : It just 

**Akira** : Happened

**ryuji** : ok ok

**ryuji** : dont be mad either

**ryuji** : i might have also maybe given in

Akira's heart stopped. Literally, he was convinced, because his brain short circuited and he vaguely registered his mouth falling open. 

**ryuji** : like a few days ago

**Akira** : So we’re even

**ryuji** : i guess?

**Akira** : This is weird let’s not make it weird 

**ryuji** : it’s a little weird bro but ok

**ryuji** : lets not talk about it?

**Akira** : Deal

Akira sighed back into the bed before it all hit him. Like a blow to the stomach with a cannon ball-- holy shit. Ryuji touched... _him._ Ryuji wasn't angry, nor was he outwardly disgusted-- truthfully, _truthfully,_ it was the best outcome Akira could hope for. He was afraid to think about what it meant, ( _What did Ryuji think? Where was it-- god, what was he thinking about?_ ), mostly because he wasn't looking to popping a new one. Akira was completely content with throwing his phone across the room and going to sleep right then and there for the next day to arrive faster, but his phone brightened up with a new incoming message.

**ryuji** : can we skip class tomorrow 

**Akira** : What the fuck are you planning on doing in my body

**Akira** : Kawakami would rip me a new one 

**Akira** : SOJIRO would rip me a new one 

**ryuji** : cmonnnn we’ve had a long week

**Akira** : We’re gonna be in Hawaii in three days

**ryuji** : i wanna see what running is like in your puny ass body

**Akira** : Excuse you

**Akira** : My puny ass is the one that goes on your stupid runs with you

**ryuji** : yeah yeah

**ryuji** : still i wanna go with you 

**ryuji** : itll be fun 

**Akira** : … 

**Akira** : Okay

**Akira** : But how am I gonna explain skipping to Mama Sakamoto

**Akira** : Also we’re really gonna go to school the day we switch back??? Why not skip then???

**ryuji** : yeah i don’t feel like going tomorrow

**ryuji** : pretty please

**ryuji** : tell mom you’re not feeling well and need a day off, ill just leave for school and change somewhere 

**Akira** : 7:30 at Shibuya Station?

**ryuji** : woooooooo

**ryuji** : gotcha

And as worried as Akira was about having both Kawakami and Sojiro lecture his ear off when they found out, he wouldn’t want to miss out an entire day to be with Ryuji and not have to worry about presenting himself at Shujin. He'd have to hope that it would slide with his probation officer, a feat he was sure he'd only succeed if he buttered up to Kawakami enough to forget to mark in absence in the school's system. That was going to be a problem for future, back-in-his-body Akira, and he mentally stored away a reminder to buy another session from Becky to make up for it. 

Akira finally got himself ready for bed, hoping it would be one of his last nights going to sleep in Ryuji's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy i always get flustered writing and uploading these types of things.  
> anyways! the boys are skipping school the next day because fuck that, they're tired. heart to hearts shall ensue. thanks for reading, i'll see you in two weeks <333  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing)


	13. Run Boy, Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally supposed to be one chapter but i was writing this and didn't feel like i did the second half of their day justice so i need a lil more time to work on it. plus, it was getting a tad bit long, so! extra chapter! hope no one minds, my writing brain has been majorly buffering lately though

Despite it being summer, the mornings had yet to have warmed up. It was a stark contrast to the sweltering heat of Futaba’s Palace and common summer temperatures of high noon, but the world was still waking up at seven thirty in the AM, not having yet caught up with the busy bees and travelers of Shibuya station. Akira jostled his way through the station, wearing some slightly respectable clothes on Ryuji’s person. He wouldn’t make the mistake of wearing his school uniform out while they were supposed to be school, not like Ryuji previously had. 

It took a while to navigate through the crowd, especially difficult since Akira and Ryuji hadn’t exactly agreed on a meeting spot. He made a beeline for a pillar nearby when he caught a blur of unruly black hair against it. 

Sure enough, Ryuji must have caught sight of him because he began waving his arms in the air and-- Akira shivered. He’d never get used to seeing himself in full like that. 

Luckily, Ryuji had half a mind to dress decently as well, in the only exercise clothes Akira had that wasn’t Shujin’s gym uniform: a pair of old basketball shorts and one of his smaller shirts with the nylon material that Akira couldn’t stand the tightness of. How Ryuji could take it, he had no idea. Akira himself had opted for a similar fit, though it was paired with a pair of compression leggings and Ryuji’s knee brace snug over his left knee. 

“Dude!” Ryuji called out, and Akira jogged over to him. “I got Boss t'call the school 'n excuse me being absent!" 

“How the hell did you manage that?” 

“Told ‘im I was feelin’ sick and I was wonderin’ if he could call school and let ‘em know.”

“... And he believed that?”

“Prolly not,” Ryuji sheepishly smiled. “Morgana almost bit my effin’ ear off when he heard though, I thought he was gonna rat me out. Actually, he might but-- whatever, what Makoto doesn’t know yet won’t hurt her.”

Akira winced. His worry laid with Kawakami and Sojiro, but he failed to consider the very stern lecture he and Ryuji would definitely receive from Makoto once they switched back. 

Ryuji nodded his head in the direction of the platform Akira assumed they would be going to. “C’mon, let’s talk on the way,” he said, but then considerably softened once they were on their way and muttered, “And, uh, Mom? How’s she doing?”

Akira kept up pace behind Ryuji while they wove in and out of the sweeping crowd. “She’s fine. We dyed your hair yesterday, actually.”

“Yeah?” Ryuji craned his head around as if he was making sure. “Looks good. Uh-- any talk, or whatever?”

Akira didn’t hear the question though, too busy thinking about… _what the hell had gotten into Ryuji?_ Akira knew their energy was off, and his mind wandered to something more cynical at first. Ryuji was somehow _too_ positive-sounding, and as much as Akira would have loved for them to be back as their regular selves, it was still unsettling enough to have gotten the thinking gears in Akira’s brain. 

But, he caught the uneasy smile from Ryuji before he turned back around, and the nervous laugh that tinged the trail of his words and-- that made sense. Ryuji was trying his hardest not to be _awkward_. Was he… was he thinking about their initial conversation from the evening before? 

Akira sighed, “It’s weird if you make it weird.”

Right on the nail. Akira watched as his own shoulders tensed up, his voice an octave higher when Ryuji squeaked, “I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

“Chill out,” Akira nudged Ryuji’s back with his hand, “Don’t think about it.”

Oh, what a hypocrite Akira was. He was just about losing his mind with what he knew running in a steady babble in the back of his mind. The only difference between he and Ryuji was that he had a general hold of his emotions on the exterior, and if that meant violently pretending he wasn’t thinking about Ryuji’s dick once he knew Ryuji was thinking about his, _well_ \-- He would have to be the strong one in that aspect. 

Akira tried to move the conversation along. “Anyways-- Talk, uh. Maaaybe we had a _talk-_ talk.” 

It succeeded in distracting Ryuji from the matter. “Dude, c’mon! She’s gonna be so worried when I get back.”

Akira sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s already worried about you! I mean… I might have added fuel to the fire, but listen--... _listen_.”

Ryuji’s response was cut off when they finally made it to the train, which was slowly getting filled to the brim with the business workers of the morning. It was a different train from what Akira used to get to Shujin in the morning, but as he and Ryuji jogged through the doors to make it before they closed, Akira’s memory sparked up. 

“We’re going to Inokashira Park?” 

They were packed into the crowd like sardines in a tin can when the train gently chugged to life; Ryuji lead the way over a few outstretched legs to a free grab handle in the middle of the car, but as more passengers shoved them against each other, all of the handles were quickly occupied and Akira’s chest was flush against… his own side. 

It was not the shoujo manga moment Akira had ever imagined himself to be in. 

But, it would do. He just had to really, really not think about it. Instead, he nudged himself forward a smidge more and took advantage of whatever crumbs got swept off of the table. Ryuji didn’t stiffen under Akira’s weight, and only readjusted his grip on the handle keeping them upright. 

Ryuji cleared his throat a moment later, as if he was just catching onto what Akira had previously asked. “I thought we’d go on that run, yeah?” 

“How about we make that run into a jog? A brisk walk, maybe?” 

“Dude,” Ryuji deadpanned, and then far more quietly, “You’re gonna leave me in the dust in my body, c’mon.” 

Akira rolled his eyes. “You sound so confident.” 

“Oh yeah? You’re sayin’ I’ll be able to keep up with these chicken legs of yours?”

Akira’s jaw dropped to the floor, and he delivered (what he hoped was) a hard punch to his own side. He was prepared with a snarky retort to counter with, but the train lurched forward and he was thrown more forcefully into Ryuji (god, himself). He threw his hands out for any purchase to keep him standing, but it only resulted in him having to grab Ryuji’s forearm and rest his other hand over his shoulder. They were roughly the same height, but with Ryuji’s (his own, _god_ ) arm up and Akira’s shoulder brushing under it, he felt so small. 

“Woah there,” Ryuji muttered, far too low for Akira to register that it was his own voice. Just his heart hammering out of his chest in the way that it was proved to be enough to short circuit Akira’s brain. With his eyes concentrated on the ground, the material of his shirt being so _Ryuji,_ it was easy to slip into another scenario: the one with the pink vignette glowing around them, with the 90s drawn roses and overly twinkling eyes and the utter hope Akira had that Ryuji’s heart was beating just as hard as his. All in their respective bodies.

A boy could dream.

“A-Anyways. What was that about my chicken legs?”

“I said what I said,” Ryuji replied smugly, and the conversation seemed to die there. Akira didn’t mind, though. He kept his gaze on the various pairs of heels and shoes that occupied the scuffed up floor and didn’t bother taking a step away from Ryuji, mentally excusing it as not wanting to fall if the train jerked forward without warning again. 

_Don’t think about him thinking about your legs. Don’t think about--_

\-----

As the world gradually woke up, so did Inokashira Park. As the sky grew blue and the sun peeked out from the sparse early morning clouds, the shadowing of the summer lush trees cast a green haze over the near empty park. The paths were lit golden from the fresh light, yet to be touched by the passersby of the afternoon and were only home to the occasional squirrel scattering by, but those were rare in the city even for a park.

They dropped their bags on a bench next to the lake, the one Akira usually took his friends to when they needed some time to relax. The water provided a bit of a cool draft over the dewy grass, enough for Akira to anticipate wishing he’d appreciate it more when he’d work up a sweat jogging. Speaking of. 

“So we’re actually gonna run..?”

Ryuji elbowed him in the side before getting up off the bench to stretch. “Dude, if anything _I_ should be the one complaining. You get to run as me!”

“But my brain doesn’t like running, so what’s gonna win?” 

“We’re gonna find out, ain’t we?” Ryuji said with what was probably supposed to be his signature crooked grin, but such a large smile looked weird on Akira’s face. 

Akira groaned and pulled himself up as well, half heartedly stretching his thigh and calf muscles so at least he’d have a fighting chance. His brain versus Ryuji’s body was a dangerous wager as it was, but his worry was alleviated when he remembered that coffee tasted like garbage to Ryuji’s tastebuds, so maybe running was going to be easier than he thought. 

(Not that he’d voice that to Ryuji, he already made a case for not wanting to run and he already committed to dying on that hill. Anyways.). 

Who knew how Ryuji would end up faring, though. Akira was far from unfit, but damn, did running _not_ suit him. 

Ryuji was definitely less flexible than him, for one. Akira bent down to touch his toes and could barely reach for his ankles without the searing stretch of his hamstrings begging him to _chill out for a second,_ _the most he’d moved since he woke up was to get out of bed, seriously_. 

On the other hand, Ryuji seemed to be taken back with Akira’s flexibility as folded forward like a flip phone and easily placed his palms flat on the ground without bending his legs. 

“Dude. What the fuck.” 

“Do you _ever_ stretch?” 

Ryuji’s mouth gaped open. “I stretch plenty! You’re just an effin’ shapeshifting alien, geez.”

Akira playfully _hmphed_ and did his best to stretch the rest of Ryuji’s unwilling muscles the best he could before reluctantly sighing and facing the music. Ryuji’s smile was near blinding as he excitedly jogged in place while waiting for Akira to finish. 

“Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

“I’m ready, dude! We’re skippin’ school and everything, don’t ya feel like a real rebel?”

“Shhhhh, don’t let everyone in the park know we’re big bad delinquents, ‘Yuji.” 

“Yeah, yeah, what’s the old man feeding the ducks gonna do, turn us in?” Ryuji laughed, and Akira couldn’t help but laugh with him. It was easy, relaxing around Ryuji, even with their current circumstances. They fell into their natural dynamic, and it came to Akira as effortlessly as breathing. 

“Okay, let’s go!” 

They took their phones and left their bags on the bench, figuring that no sunrise burglar would want their spare clothes, and finally got to jogging. Akira started off faster than he normally would, unaware he was doing so until he realized Ryuji was lagging behind him and he had to slow down if they wanted to keep pace. Admittedly, running had never felt easier, though Akira refused to voice the thought and followed Ryuji along the path he was being guided through. 

The crisp air, untouched by city pollution and cramped up citizens was a welcoming change of pace. It was even nicer knowing he wasn’t heaving for air like Ryuji was struggling not to do from next to him, but Akira knew his body and his lungs were probably aching even if they’ve only been at it for at least a few minutes. 

“So, uh,” Ryuji tried to start without audibly wheezing. “You never came across anyone else I know, right?” 

More easily, Akira answered, “No, not really. Ushimaru was a dick all week, but I think that’s it. You?”

Ryuji looked a little surprised Akira would redirect the question back to him, but after averting his eyes he sputtered out, “Uh, maybe? I-- I saw Yoshizawa a few times…”

Akira squinted at him in suspicion. “It sounds like there’s more to that than what you’re saying.” 

“How mad would you be if there is?” Ryuji wheezed, finally slowing to a stop to crouch forward and catch his breath. He was right at least, running in Akira’s body was probably an obstacle on its own when he was used to his own developed endurance to keep him going. 

Akira stopped with him, having already speed ran the five stages of grief wondering what the hell Ryuji could have gotten up to. Akira had come to meet an extraordinary amount of people despite what little time he’d been in the city, but for Ryuji to have only come across Kasumi was both a blessing and a curse in itself. “What happened?” 

“I, uh… might’ve messed up your chances with her.” 

“Wh--... Chances?” 

Ryuji’s expression morphed into something a little distraught- Akira wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen himself look as simultaneously embarrassed and sheepish as he did then. Still recovering some breath, Ryuji straightened up and craned his head to look at anything but himself, and Akira imagined he must have looked _very_ confused. 

“Yeah, I uh…” Ryuji started, rubbing the back of his neck in a Ryuji Mannerism that Akira couldn’t help but be grateful for in the moment. “I might’ve… well, I definitely bumped into her in Kichijoji yesterday after, y’know, that whole thing-- and there was this whole uh, umbrella thing a few days ago, but anyways-- I was being super weird when she took me to this cafe, ‘n I kinda… ran out. There’s more to it, but it was a weird day and--” Ryuji cut himself off to heave in a large breath of air, but before he could continue with his rant Akira was already waving his arms to calm him down. 

“Yuji, Yuji, slow down, listen to me for a sec.” 

Ryuji shakily sighed and settled for resting his hands at his hips instead of fiddling with his fingers. Another Ryuji Mannerism. 

“Okay,” Akira continued once Ryuji nodded. “Eye for an eye, right? There was no way we were gonna make it through the week without messing up and honestly, acting weird around Kasumi is the _very_ least of my worries.”

“Yeah, but… don’t you guys have, like, a thing? Something goin’ on there?” 

Akira snorted, “No.” 

Ryuji’s face finally fell into mere confusion, far preferred to the anxious one from before. “The whole senpai schmick..? Helping each other out?” 

“I love her, but we’re _just_ friends, ‘Yuji. I’ll pinky promise-- you know how seriously I take my pinky promises.” 

“Right.” Ryuji was able to laugh, but it was still twanged with hidden nerves that Akira hadn’t been able to dispel. 

“‘Yuji, look at me. Actually, don’t, but-- it’s fine. We were gonna have to deal with people we knew no matter what, and Kasumi’s my literal last concern. I know this politician, and-- oh, actually, I know an ex-yakuza guy too, you could’ve bumped into him--” 

“No effin’ way!”

“I do!” Akira exclaimed, but Ryuji raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. It wasn’t every day that someone happened to know someone who used to be involved with the yakuza, but the same guy supplied the team with their guns and weapons and Akira quite liked the discount he got on them. “To be fair, you’re the one who introduced me to him!” 

Ryuji had to contemplate it for a moment, as if he was running through every single person he’d ever introduced to Akira. “... Mishima?” 

“No ‘Yuji, not Mishima-- _Iwai_! Gun-shop guy!”

“Ohhh, _him_? He was a yakuza dude?!” Ryuji said in awe, realization clouding his previous expression. He looked a little relieved to have not bumped into Iwai as Akira at least, and that was a shitshow Akira wasn’t sure he wanted to ever have to witness. 

“You didn’t see the tattoo on his neck?” 

“I’m not exactly lookin’ at dudes neck tattoos, alright? Whatever, c’mon, let’s actually get a decent run in before people start walkin’ around.” 

\----- 

Akira finally understood the excitement about running: He just needed to be in a body that didn’t get winded after five minutes of jogging. 

Ryuji was certainly struggling, and their demeanors on the matter did a complete 180. Ryuji was already grumbling about it as soon as they got into it, but Akira was eager to keep his momentum going and run a damn marathon. 

He _got_ it. Ryuji’s motivation must have seeped into his mindset from his body, but there was just something special about what was essentially spicy walking that had Akira wanting to soar. Every heavy step on the dusty pathway of Inokashira was another pump of adrenaline racing up his legs, enough to quell the shooting pain in Ryuji’s leg and instead settle in the hearth of the fire gathering in his ribs. Every breath torn from his lungs was ragged as he picked up pace, forgetting about Ryuji slowing down next to him and instead all he could think about he’s pushing himself further, faster than he’d ever had the heart to run before. 

Ryuji must have understood, because at some point Akira realized he was running alone. 

No wonder Ryuji was such a track junkie, Akira would have been one too if his chicken legs allowed it. It was just Akira, the quiet hum of the park's insects slowly buzzing to life, and the early sun’s reflection off of the cool water of the lake. In that moment, Akira knew what it felt like to be free. He wished he could run away from his life in the same way, a way that instilled him with so much euphoria he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to stop. 

Eventually, his calves were bearing more of the searing weight of running for so long and his left leg was making its displeasure with running around for so long very evident. Akira figured he was gone long enough, and as sure as he was that Ryuji wouldn’t have any qualms with the fact, he knew they needed to get back home eventually and he hoped he was on the correct path to take him back to where they started. 

The runners high fueled him long enough to eventually make his way back to Ryuji, who was draped over their bags with an almost empty water bottle in hand. Akira was sure that it was unopened before they started and, damn, could Ryuji have been that tired in his body? 

“Thanks for runnin’ away, dude! Thought you’d never come back!” Ryuji perked up as soon as Akira shuffled over to retrieve his own water bottle. 

“I feel great,” Akira breathed, realizing he was sorely lacking air while getting caught up in his run. 

Ryuji smirked in victory, though it was dampened when he breathlessly said, “Told ya.” 

“You look like shit,” Akira continued, cheekily smiling. 

“ _You_ look like shit, asshole.” Ryuji retorted and Akira figured, yeah, technically _he_ did. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and the way that Ryuji was spread out over the bench was not doing any favors in preserving a single ounce of Akira’s dignity. “Anyways, it's only nine. Wanna go back to my place?” 

\-----

“Gross, I’m still all sweaty,” Ryuji groaned as soon as he unlocked the door to his apartment. Before they arrived he insisted he give Akira a proper tour, as if Akira hadn’t already mapped out the majority of it. Ryuji couldn’t be convinced otherwise though, he wanted to give Akira a proper welcome now that he had the chance to be a decent host for the first time they were inside together. “Gah, whatever. Welcome to my humble abode, ‘Kira!” 

“It’s hardly a welcome--” 

“Shhhhhhhhhh. Welcome. Do you want a pair of slippers?” 

“I think I’m alright, ‘Yuji.” 

\-----

“No way you cleaned my effin’ room.” 

They’d finally gotten themselves settled in Ryuji’s room, Ryuji having made a beeline for his bed and wistfully collapsed onto it the second he got through the door. It wasn’t until he took another second to lift his head and look around his room that his eyes widened in realization that everything had looked far more put together than he left it. 

Akira shrugged and opted for sitting at Ryuji’s desk chair. There was the situation that came with having to change out of their clothes now that they’ve worked out in them, but Akira decided to worry about it a little later in favor of watching Ryuji’s eyes rake over his room. 

Ryuji furrowed his brows and parted his mouth open to ask a question, but Akira already beat him to the answer and said, “I threw whatever didn’t have a logical place in here in the closet so you wouldn’t have to look for it later.” 

Ryuji sighed in relief. “Thanks, dude. Really, I feel kinda bad you had to clean my shit, if I wanted a maid I coulda called Kawakami.”

“If it makes you feel better, I cleaned everything up in a maid costume, so it’s fair. Don’t-- put that pillow down, Yuji, put it down!!” 

Ryuji’s arm was poised upwards with a pillow in hand, and he looked fully ready to launch it at Akira before he rolled his eyes and placed it in his lap instead. 

Akira continued, “And, it’s fine. I had nothing better to do anyways, might as well have done your laundry.”

“You… Geez, dude, you really went all out, huh?” 

“It’s a part of the extra special package, _master~_ No, Ryuji, _put the pillow down or so help me god_ \--” 

Ryuji did not put the pillow down. Akira had been prepared to engage in an all out war of pillow launching and dude-bro wrestling until he was halfway out of his chair and realized they were still very much in their sweaty clothes, and as much as they’d cooled down inside the feeling still lingered. It wasn’t like he could take a shower (well, he _could,_ but with Ryuji over it was already a situation and a half), but he wasn’t going to wrestle with his best bro in that state. 

He did his best attempt at whipping the pillow back at Ryuji, but it landed on the sheets next to him and Akira groaned in frustration. He expected Ryuji to initiate a back and forth with it, but instead he fell backwards and heavily sighed, “It’s nice to be back here, dude. Even if everything sucks.”

“It does suck, huh?” 

Ryuji snorted. “Totally sucks. I fixed your bike, though.” 

Akira came up at a sudden blank. It must have been what Ryuji felt when Akira vaguely mentioned Iwai. “Bike..?” 

“Or Boss’s bike, whatever. It was under the tarp behind the stairs, I thought I’d… y’know. Least I could do.” 

Akira recalled coming across a janky bike while cleaning out the attic upon his arrival to LeBlanc, but he thought it was far beyond deserving reparations to even consider it. It was a little comforting knowing Ryuji had something to keep himself occupied that wasn’t letting Morgana drive him completely insane for the time he had to spend in the attic.

“You think I could be one of those dudes on the train who always have a bike with them?” 

“If you wanna make the walk to school go from five minutes to three, sure,” Ryuji responded, and he seemed content with leaving the conversation there. 

Akira wondered what they looked like. Akira, whose body was supposed to be visiting Ryuji’s apartment for the first time, sprawled over Ryuji’s bed like he’d been there a million times already. Ryuji eventually shifted so he was lying longways on the bed and turned his head to gaze at his photowall. Akira understood the sentiment: he’d stared at it for longer than he would have liked to admit. He’d spend evenings that he didn’t have any obligations to fulfill sat back on a pile of pillows, wondering and wondering and wondering.

It was illogical, but Akira always seemed to forget that his friends had lives before him. It would just pass his mind. He stared at Ryuji’s pictures, at primary school track events Akira wished he could have seen upfront and cheesy selfies he’d take with his mom. Maybe it was a “liking Ryuji” think, Akira wanting to know everything about him, but it very well could have also been the complex that Makoto had ever so lovingly told him he had. A hero complex, or whatever. 

Akira didn’t agree. He just wanted to see his friends live the happy lives they deserved. Even if it stretched him a little thin, Akira couldn’t have just turned a blind eye to it if he knew. That wasn’t what Joker would have done. 

Most of all, Akira wanted to see Ryuji happy. 

Again- Maybe it could have been a “liking Ryuji” thing, but Akira would have done anything to ensure Ryuji looked as happy as he did in the old selfies with Aiko that were taped up onto his walls. When Ryuji ran track and felt like he was flying when he did, most likely ten times better than before his knee was busted. Akira had experienced that freedom firsthand.

Ryuji had once told Akira that he felt free when they were together. 

“Earth to ‘Kira?” 

Akira snapped his eyes forward and latched onto his own self still lying on Ryuji’s bed. 

“Huh?” 

“I asked you a question, I… I was thinkin’ about it before, but you’ve never really, yunno, mentioned your parents. I-I miss Mom like hell, but you were all weird when she said I love you on the phone and I just--… was wondering.” Ryuji sounded unsure, careful with his tone in a way he previously wouldn’t have worried about. 

Akira leaned back in his chair, lips puffed out in a heavy sigh. The question was inevitable, in a way, what with Akira finally meeting Aiko and Ryuji having already opened up to him about his father a while back, but there wasn’t exactly any way to prepare himself to give a substantial answer. 

Akira glanced at the wall of photos again. He exhaled and felt a rattle in his ribs he wasn’t sure was present before. 

“They were, uh. Parents. No, that’s a shit way to say it-- I mean, they were just… there.” 

“ _There_.” 

Akira rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands in exasperation at himself; It was difficult to put it all into words when it already made sense to him, but every version of how he could explain it sounds far too foreign, far too impersonal even when it pertained to him. 

“Yeah, they were just _there._ I mean, I’m grateful, we lived fine, had a roof over my head and food on the table and all. It just-- that’s it. You--” Akira cut himself to dryly laugh, the weight of what bullshit it all was settling into his chest. “You stop asking for hugs when they’re not given to you when you’re twelve. That kind of thing.” 

“That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah,” Akira bitterly responded, though none of it was directed towards Ryuji. Instead, his mind traveled to Aiko. How, even in Ryuji’s body, every _I love you_ tied inexplicable knots in his stomach and every endearing _Mom_ laid heavy on his tongue. _Akira_ didn’t love Aiko. As far as Akira was concerned, he didn’t _have_ a mom. He had parents, a mother who worked and a father who worked and the pair of them provided the bare minimum for their son, but Akira didn’t necessarily have a family. He didn’t feel like he emotionally did, anyways. He was sure he was a burden, some sort of mistake, but he’d never been outright neglected until he was kicked into the city with the expectation to fend for himself like he was the week's trash. 

Akira would miss having a mom. 

Speaking of. Akira’s ear caught the whine and creak of the front door, a sound he had become accustomed to when waiting for… Aiko to come home. 

Oh, no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew, these boys. disasters, both of em. i hope this chapter is turning out alright, i've been very doubtful of my writing lately (im still having fun though). let me know!!  
> thanks for reading!! as always follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing)!!


	14. Heads For Left, Tails For Right

“Hon? I went out and got some pastries from that new place down the road from the hospital, thought it would make you feel better-- Oh! Who… Whose shoes are these?” Aiko distantly shouted from the entryway of the Sakamoto residence. 

Ryuji looked at Akira with wide eyes while they frantically searched for any way to excuse skipping school together, but Akira could hear Aiko’s feet padding closer to Ryuji’s room and it was far too late to think of a solid reason for having Akira over without it being extremely obvious that the, “I’m tired, can I take a day off school?” line was just an excuse to hang out with a friend, but-- even worse… 

Akira hadn’t technically met Aiko yet. 

The footsteps became clear and a gentle knock came through the door. Through it, Aiko’s voice teased, “They didn’t look like girl shoes.”

“Come in. Uh, Mom.” Akira’s voice harshly cracked. 

He still wasn’t entirely used to that. 

Aiko nudged the door open and peeked her head out from behind it with a smile and a bakery box in her hands. But, her eyes immediately trailed from her son to the guest sitting on his bed. 

Ryuji scrambled up into a sitting position, his gaze on Aiko condensed into something less than a polite stranger would offer. His eyes were wide and Akira watched as his own lip quivered, but it passed so quickly that Akira could have imagined it. He knew Ryuji missed his mom, that much was obvious at just how comfortable even Akira felt while spending time with her, but it wasn’t as if he had his own motherly relationship to compare it to. Ryuji and Aiko must have been a special case. 

Akira cleared his throat. Ryuji got the hint. 

“H-Hi, I’m Ryuji’s friend, uh--”

“Kurusu!” Aiko cheerily finished for him. While she seemed a little confused at first, she must have gathered the context of… Well, Akira had no idea how often Ryuji talked about him to Aiko, or what impression she possibly could have had of him, but apparently it was well enough to recognize him without having met face to face before. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” Ryuji’s voice was far too shaky than it should have been, but he eased up enough to stick a hand out in greeting. 

Immediately, Aiko’s smile widened. “No need for formalities, Ryuji here’s talked about you enough for me to feel like I’ve known you forever!” 

It almost made Aiko coming home worth it. 

“Oh?” Akira feigned embarrassment. “Do I really talk about him _that_ much?” 

It was the entirely wrong person getting nervous. Ryuji’s hands were already shushing Akira, and he looked near frantic when he stuttered out, “O-Oh, no, that’s-- that’s alright! We don’t have to--” 

“Aw, you sure, _Akira_ ?” Akira countered, challenging Ryuji with a smirk. He was freaked out beyond compare before, but finding out Ryuji talked about him _that_ much… 

Ryuji glared at him in return. 

Aiko was the one to interject. “Okay-- well, I’ll leave you two to it, but leave some pastries for me!” 

She left the box on the low shelf nearest to her and bid another goodbye to Akira, but before she could close the door behind her she turned around and said to her son, “And don’t think you’re getting away with skipping to hang out with a friend hon, I promise to give you a hard time about it later.” 

With a (more daunting than before) smile, she was gone in a sweep of colorful scrubs. 

…

“What was that about you talking about me?”

Akira got pummelled with a pillow to the face once more. 

\----- 

“Isn’t the point of skipping school to go out and do something fun?” Ryuji groaned. An hour had passed as they ate their pastries and read some of Ryuji’s manga, but Ryuji was apparently over it already. He grew increasingly bored as they loitered around his room; His legs were propped up against the wall while his back was to the bed, and he’d taken to leaving his open manga to rest on his face. “I mean-- what do we usually do when we hang out?” 

Akira had to contemplate it for a moment before coming to a meek answer. “Work out?” 

Ryuji groaned some more. “Never again.”

“Uhhh. Eat lunch?”

“We just ate.” 

“Go to a cafe?” 

“...We just ate.” 

“Play darts?”  
  


“Shit, this is hopeless, man! We’re gonna end up doing shit we do after school anyways!” 

Akira snorted at Ryuji’s distress. Truthfully, he appreciated the time spent with Ryuji and a two day weekend more than anything, but Ryuji was right in his testament that they weren't really doing anything they didn’t usually do when they spent time together. 

“How about... “ Akira pondered aloud, leaning back in his chair as his gaze swept over Ryuji’s room for an idea. His eyes landed on the coin jar Ryuji kept on his bookshelf and a proposal began forming in his head. “How about we take a coin to the station and flip it when we need to take a turn, and we’ll see where it takes us?” 

Ryuji looked ready to turn down yet another idea, but his expression turned into something of consideration. “That sounds… kinda fun! I’m down.” 

\-----

Thus, Akira and Ryuji found themselves in a less-busy Shibuya station, changed into fresh clothes and with a coin in Akira’s palm. 

“Okay, so… heads for left, tails for right?” Akira confirmed, balancing the coin on his thumb nail. They were getting a few weird looks just by standing in the middle of the station huddled around Akira’s hand, but otherwise they were left alone if they walked past the meandering officers quickly. Akira flicked the coin upwards and let it flip into his palm. “Tails! C’mon, let’s go.” 

Akira dragged Ryuji by the wrist from turn to turn afterwards, stopping at every intersection of the station to take turns flipping the coin and stepping up and down various lines of stairs. When they couldn’t possibly take any more turns, they found themselves at the platform of the Kichijoji line. 

“What can we even do in Kichijoji?” Ryuji wondered aloud, but as the train screeched into the echoing platform, Akira grabbed his wrist one more time and ran through the car doors. 

“We’re gonna find out, aren’t we?” 

Thankfully, there were more than a few seats empty. In fact, the only other guest in the train car was an old woman sitting near the back, so they were left to comfortably sit near the middle instead of stand like they had to in the morning. Ryuji stretched his legs out as soon as he flopped down.

Akira relaxed back into his seat as well, though he scrunched his nose when he looked down at what he was wearing on his own legs. He should have been used to wearing Ryuji clothes, but all of Ryuji’s relatively “tame” pieces were in the laundry basket since Akira had already worn them and he had to dig into the rest of Ryuji’s taste in fashion. Which-- _Neon_. There was so much neon. Even in Ryuji’s body, Akira felt out of place with it on. 

He ended up wearing a pair of red sweatpants, combined with a black t-shirt and red high tops. It was the most muted ensemble he could put together, which would have been surprising in the eyes of anyone who did not know of their situation. 

He had to beg Ryuji to preserve what little was left of his own dignity, though. Ryuji ended up pulling on his signature purple hoodie, which wasn’t the worst, but if Akira had to choose he would have gone with his own monochrome wardrobe, thank you very much. 

He pulled at the tight fabric of his shirt and watched it snap back onto his torso. “Why are some of your clothes so tight?” 

Ryuji glanced at what he was wearing and shrugged. “I gotta show off the Metaverse bod, don’t I? You should too, have you seen yourself?” 

Akira decided to store _that_ away for a rainy day for the sake of keeping his cool, otherwise he swore he’d grow too flustered to speak for the rest of the day. 

“We don’t exactly pass as not-high schoolers like this,” Akira countered instead. 

“Nah, we can look like those idols, right? They dress super bright and they're like, in their 20s.” 

“Yeah, but idols actually care about how they dress.” 

“Asshole.” 

\----- 

“I bought you some new clothes, actually.” 

They were walking around aimlessly in Kichijoji to get a feel for what was open and what wasn’t. It was far less busy when there weren’t students and people out of work bustling around, which was both a cursing and a blessing. They were strolling down the street when Ryuji passed by an alleyway and paused to look into it. 

“Oh no,” Akira responded. His mind was already reeling in the possible combinations Ryuji of all people could have come up with for clothing considering their tastes vastly contrasted. He had enough of bright colors to last him a lifetime.

Ryuji was quick to defend himself, “Nah dude, I didn’t get you shit I would wear, I know you’d hate it.” 

“For the record, I don’t hate them on you!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ryuji rolled his eyes. “I mean, I found boring shit I thought you might like. You rotate between the same three shirts man, how much do you spend on laundry?” 

Akira walked ahead, hoping that moving along would also move the conversation along. He nervously laughed, “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Ryuji chuckled, “You’re almost as bad as effin; Akechi, grandpa clothes and all.” 

Akira scoffed, “Grandpa clothes-- C’mon!” Ryuji gave him a look, and Akira sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine, argue later. But c’mere, let’s see if there's anything interesting between these buildings.” 

Akira pulled Ryuji to an alleyway he knew housed more than a few shady sellers hidden behind draped booths, but he was relatively acquainted with one guy back there that traded him some random assortment of items that were somehow useful in the Metaverse, so he figured if he was good with one of them, he was well off with the rest of them. Ryuji followed him without hesitation when it came down to it, so it couldn’t have been that much of a problem. 

“‘Kira, you need… incense?” 

Akira had stopped in front of a fortune teller booth he already frequented, though the woman was much more of a sham than he knew Chihaya to have the tendency to be. Regardless, he relied on her for some of his strengthening incense when he needed to power up a persona. (And he had a sneaking suspicion Caroline and Justine just liked the smell of them as well, he tried to bring a few more sticks than he needed and forgot them when it was convenient). 

“You never need to reset the vibes in your room, Ryuji?” 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

Akira hummed and bought a few of the little packages to shove in his bag before bidding a goodbye to the shop owner and taking Ryuji to a row of other concealed shops. 

While following Akira, Ryuji said, “You’re not really gonna spend the entire day shopping with me as your lackey, right?” 

“If you behave I’ll buy you a lollipop,” Akira cheekily answered, but Ryuji’s groan came to deaf ears when Akira caught sight of a little booth selling children's trinkets. 

There was a myriad of various kid stuff hanging from the walls, ranging from princess dresses to action figures whose only similarities were that they were _definitely_ counterfeits to the official products, but Akira’s eyes caught the gleam of a spinning rack that was laden with costume jewelry and an assortment of shiny things: a thief's pile of gold. 

Akira all but ran over, careful not to raise too much attention as he began spinning the rack to check out its goodies. He wouldn’t have been one to call himself childish, but he had something extremely specific in mind… _Bingo_ .  
  


“Are you five?” Ryuji asked amusedly, leaning against the counter to observe his rustling. 

Akira was quick to reply, “Literally shut up, I have the perfect thing to make up for the clothes.” 

“Aw man, you don’t hafta--” 

“GOT IT!” 

Above his head, Akira held a small piece of plastic attached to two necklaces. Upon closer inspection, it was one of those stupid friendship necklaces of clay milk and cookie pendants with cute faces and the telltale “BFF” bit at the bottom. 

“You’re joking,” Ryuji deadpanned. He looked thoroughly, thoroughly unimpressed. 

Akira cheerily answered, “Absolutely not, I got this idea the second you said you got me clothes. I mean, there’s probably one for 7 though, one for everyone on the team.” 

“Ain’t there only six of us?”

“Morgana has to have one too!” 

Ryuji groaned as Akira laughed in pride, and he was gleefully nodding to the cashier who was warily watching their interaction. They definitely didn’t pass as people who didn’t need to be in school, but she must not have cared enough to call a cop on them because she tiredly rang Akira up for the ridiculous necklaces and let them go on their way. 

Akira held them proudly, already pulling them out of the packaging to admire them. The second F in “BFF” was definitely printed wrong, and the cute eyes of the cookie were painted to look cross eyed, but Akira looked upon them with so much stupid giddiness that Ryuji didn’t have the heart to be annoyed when Akira insisted he put it on immediately. He turned around and let Akira clip the chain around his neck, trying his best to suppress a shiver at the gentle pass of Akira’s fingers over his neck. Hands nudged the hair off his skin while securing the clasp, and Ryuji heard Akira mumble, “Why do I have so much hair?” 

He chuckled, “Your foreheads paler than your face y’know, ‘cause of the bangs.” 

Akira tapped Ryuji’s neck to signify he was done and placed his own necklace in Ryuji’s hand for his turn. “I didn’t think my hair was a problem until I realized how much lighter my head feels without all of it.” 

Ryuji fumbled with the tiny clasp. “Nah, it’s only a problem in the summer. It suits ya, though. I wonder what you’d look like with it pushed back..?” 

Finally getting it on, Akira turned around to face Ryuji and continue their walk down the street. “I tried,” he said, and embarrassingly rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think I did it right, but it… didn’t look good. You don’t wanna know.” 

“I could go home and try it like, right now if I wanted.” 

“You’re the worst,” Akira retorted, elbowing him in the arm. 

Ryuji smiled, “But you gave me the cookie necklace, the cookie’s obviously better.” 

“Yeah, yeah. C’mere, I haven’t been to the bakery here in a while.” 

They went around to the baked goods stand so Akira could buy a couple of small treats before making a couple of more rounds in Kichijoji. There was only so much to look at among the rotating booths and the shady figures that came and went with them, ajdnit wasn’t enough to keep them occupied for long. Akira sat on a couch outside of a secondhand shop a few times out of a sheer need to do something, despite some of the looks from older patrons he was getting. Eventually, they slowed in the middle of another street. 

“We don’t have anything else to do,” Akira stated plainly. 

Ryuji groaned, “We can’t be doin’ this all day, man! Gotta make it worth it if Mom’s pissed at me!” 

“Wanna go back to the station?” 

“Hmmm… Okay.” 

  
  
  
  


They caught a train back to Shibuya station after the coin guided them there in a weird turn of fate. Ryuji decided to take charge with the coin and took extra care in flipping it high into the air, yet after a few heads and tails later, they ended up at the underground mall of all places. Somehow, it managed to pull past Kichijoji for places they didn’t have anything to do in. 

“Are you kidding me?! We don’t need t’buy more crap!” 

Akira contemplated what they could possibly do, when a bit of a selfish idea came to mind. “I kinda need to get groceries? I doubt you’ve been eating anything but curry for the past week anyways.” 

“Y’know what,” Ryuji deadpanned, and Akira was worried he would argue against the idea for a second. “I won’t say you’re right, but you definitely need some groceries.” 

  
  
  
  


Akira insisted Ryuji guide him around the grocery store in a shopping cart. 

The store was small, as was expected for an underground facility, but it was sizable enough to warrant a little bit of leeway in Ryuji pushing Akira around. His limbs were long and gangly enough to spill over the sides of the cart, but the store was empty enough for them to risk being dumb and Akira was feeling a little adventurous. He nursed the things he needed in his lap as he gave Ryuji the command of where to take him. 

He tried to ignore how weirdly… _domestic_ grocery shopping with Ryuji felt. 

Ryuji begrudgingly pushed him around, following Akiras every whim. Akira only really needed the basics to get by as he already ate enough of Sojiro’s curry in the morning to last him the day and was a champ at eating out, but it was still nice to see what options he had for the basics and debate with Ryuji on what brands he should buy. 

“Onwards, my liege! Take me to the, uh… I think I need cereal?” 

“Whatever you want, man.” Ryuji guided them to the small cereal aisle and took in the various colorful boxes, off brand and major brand alike. “So, are ya digging into Thief funds for all your shit or what?” 

Akira nudged his head to indicate for Ryuji to push him closer to the cereal boxes at the end of the shelf. “No, that’s all for equipment, but I have all my part time jobs for personal stuff.” 

“I feel bad about you havin’ to work so much, y’know. It ain’t fair that you do all this shit and we kinda just mooch off ya.” 

“It’s not the worst.” Akira shrugged. He picked up two boxes and outstretched his arms for Ryuji to see. “Jack Frosty Flakes or Narukami Nut Cheerios?” 

“Narukami Nut Cheerios, healthier in the long run. And dude, don’t change the subject! You deserve a break like the rest of us.” 

Akira added the box to the growing pile of assorted food items in his lap and nodded his head towards the wall of fridges. “You guys work hard enough in the Metaverse though, it’s fine. Besides, this week's been enough of a break. I get to hang out with you, do some shopping-- don’t worry about it.” 

Ryuji hummed and left it at that, but stored the conversation away to bring up another day. After quietly picking out a carton of milk, Akira hopped out of the cart and they made their way to the registers. He didn’t need much to sustain himself, especially when half his personal funds went to trying the Big Bang Challenge and Big Bang Burger. How his arteries haven’t completely clogged yet, he had no idea. 

Thankfully, the grocery store was still relatively empty. The cashier at the register looked fairly bored while ringing up Akira’s things, but that was to be expected. 

“Didn’t know you were such a brat once you got a personal chauffeur,” Ryuji teased Akira in the meanwhile and elbowed him in the side. 

Akira returned with his own elbow jab, “I didn’t think you knew what the word chauffeur meant, ‘Yuji.” 

They continued like that for a little bit, elbowing each other and quietly laughing like a pair of gossiping school girls. There wasn’t exactly anything to laugh about, but there was a frivolity in skipping school to get some milk and bread. They were ready to leave as the cashier outstretched them the two bags and their receipt, until they heard someone loudly clear their throat from behind them. 

They had gained a bit of an audience, apparently. The woman in line behind them huffily glared at them from behind the kid sitting in the front of her cart. 

“What’s it to you?” Ryuji immediately said, already raring for a fight. 

The woman looked even more offended, somehow. She straightened up and peered at the two over her glasses, “There’s children around, you know.” 

Ryuji confusedly asked, “And?” 

“You should tone your lifestyle down in public,” she announced haughty. “No one should be forced to watch you… shove it in our faces.”

Oh, what a _bitch._ Despite not even being a couple-- Ryuji’s vision flashed red. He felt anger bubble in his gut and it threatened to boil over just at her audacity, but Akira interrupted Ryuji before he could say something he’d regret. 

“Respectfully, I don’t think you should be too worried about our lifestyle when you’re holding a Louis bag and your carts full of generic brand cereal-- Good luck to your kid.” 

He grabbed his bags and thanked the cashier before taking Ryuji’s hand and leading them the fuck out of there. The cashier continued to look bored, but they left the woman gaping in their dust. 

Admittedly, it was a little odd to hear his voice so calmly passive aggressive. “Akira, what the-- Holy shit!” 

Akira wove through the people milling through the underground mall with a loud laugh. His hold on Ryuji’s hand was unmoving as he wove past swathes of people. He doubted that the woman was going to do anything, much less chase them out of the store, but it was a little exhilarating to get up to a bit of mischief when they’d been out of Metaverse commission for a week now. Akira had always been a little sassy when it counted, and Ryuji was glad for it. Who knew what he would have said to the woman completely unhinged, maybe something that would have got him reported. 

“Slow the hell down, she ain’t getting anyone to follow us,” Ryuji gasped a while later. Akira must have forgotten that he was a runner in Ryuji’s body, while Ryuji was sure he’d never want to run again if it was as Akira. 

“I know, I know, just-- it’s kinda fun, isn’t it?” Akira responded when they slowed down on the top floor of the station. 

“Yeah, but it looks like we stole something instead of dunking on some hag.” 

“Poor kid,” Akira nonchalantly replied, and they both interrupted in quiet laughter. It wasn’t really out of anything, but laughing with each other came as easily as anything. As easily as Ryuji got angry and as easily as Akira got gutsy enough for offhanded insults, at least. 

They had collapsed on a bench to catch their breaths, but Akira had an idea as soon as they calmed down. “I have one more place to take us.” 

“No coin?” 

Akira pulled it out of his pocket and made a show of turning the coin on heads in his palm. “Ohhh, look at that. We gotta go left. C’mon.” He pulled Ryuji up again after handing him a grocery bag to carry, and they were on their way once more. 

  
  
  
  
  


Akira took Ryuji to the aquarium. 

He wasn’t sure what made him want to take Ryuji, but it was relaxing enough to serve as their last destination. The morning run, stopping by Kichijoji and doing a little grocery shopping-- It had already taken a bit and a half out of them energy wise. Akira had always meant to take Ryuji there anyways, and he figured there was no better time than the time they had. 

Ryuji looked a little surprised at the decision, but other than his face reddening, he took it in stride and was the one to buy their passes at the entrance. 

They must have looked like a pair, strolling around the near-empty aquarium on a regular monday afternoon. Their clothes were too bright, and Ryuji was laughing a little too hard every time he pointed out an ugly fish and said it looked like Akira. They each had a grocery bag in hand and walked too closely, both looked way too young to not have supposed to be in school, and they were far too lucky for no one to have called them on it yet. 

They floated from room to room, admiring the turtle exhibit and petting a few stingrays in the main area before they entered a smaller, more closed off room. Three walls had a few small windows for various coral and colorful sea grasses to be displayed, but the fourth was the reason why Akira wanted to take Ryuji to the aquarium in the first place. 

It was completely glass from floor to ceiling, and the water emitted a blue-green glow over the rest of the room. The tank held the most variety of fish in the entire aquarium, and Akira had found himself getting lost in the sheer depth of it the first time he saw it. Despite being separated with the thick pane of glass, the water absorbed all noise in the area.

“This looks so effin’ cool,” Ryuji said, all hushed, like he was afraid to disrupt the ambience of the room. Other than the thousands of fish that resided on the other side of the glass, they were the only two inside. 

Ryuji immediately ran up right in front of the tank, hands tucked behind his back so he wouldn’t mistakenly splay them over the glass. Akira followed, albeit much slower. 

“It’s pretty, right?” Akira murmured, slotting himself next to Ryuji. 

If he unfocused his eyes enough, the water and flitting fish of the tank turned into one large colliding blur. Instead, he could gaze at the glass just enough to admire the reflection of Ryuji’s own eyes staring back at him, but if he switched their places… he could imagine the reflection was of him, and Ryuji was standing next to him where he was always meant to be. Right at his side. 

There was a throb at his leg, and it shattered the fantasy. 

“Y’know,” Akira muttered after what felt like ages. “You’re worried about me taking breaks, but you never tell me about your leg.” 

“...huh?” 

“Your leg. It hurts all the time, I can’t think straight when it gets bad… I mean, you can tell me. We can stop for breaks in the Metaverse more often.” 

Ryuji shrugged, but his eyes were still concentrated forwards. “I’m used to it, you’re not. I mean, well-- I guess we’re both kinda self-destructive, huh? Some hypocrite I am.” 

He chuckled at that and so did Akira, but there was something nudged under the mirth that made it sound hollow. It was secret and soft and it hurt Akira’s ribs a little. 

The days had been passing quicker-- their entire day had been... choppy. It didn’t help that it was already out of the norm of their usual routine, but their time out, it had felt so jumpy. They jumped from place to place to place, though they passed most of their time on the train to and from their destinations and Akira couldn’t remember most of any ride. 

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” 

“We always are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, not the proudest of this one, but i wanted to update before i forgot to
> 
> either way, last chapter next *sniffs*


	15. Out of Body Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERYYYYY sorry for the wait!!! i have no excuse, i just got caught up in life and writing other stuff, i hope this isnt too bad

Tuesday. It was finally,  _ finally…  _ Tuesday. 

Ryuji woke up to the sight of LeBlanc's worn attic beams, and hoped to the universe that it was the last time. 

It was a relief just being able to lie on his own bed the day before. It was even more of a weight off his shoulders to see his mom again— No matter how many times Akira reassured him that she was fine, it was almost a force of habit for Ryuji to need to see her okay to believe it. 

He caught a glance of himself in LeBlanc’s mirror when he went downstairs to use the bathroom and the dread washed over him all over again. He decided he’d never use the phrase “to be in someone else’s shoes” ever again; He was over being able to admire Akira whenever he wanted after the initial rush of excitement, when he wasn’t burdened with the prospect of not switching back and constantly feeling nauseous because his conscious knew he wasn’t in his own body and wouldn’t let up in fighting against it. When every breath of air in Akira’s body wasn’t a breath of air leaving his persona, leaving his entire spirit. It left his mind muddled and his bones heavy. He barely registered that his leg didn’t hurt anymore, though he wasn’t sure if it was because he felt awful no matter what or he’d simply forgotten.

Ryuji’s vision swam as he looked away from the mirror, and it took a minute of leaning against the wall for balance to suppress the third bout of nausea bubbling in his chest that morning. 

He got to Shujin before he knew it. Ann greeted him at his desk like she always did when he slunk into the room and sat down, and one of the only things Ryuji looked forward to when he went to school was talking to her. Otherwise he was subject to constant questions from Akira’s teachers. Apparently Akira was some sort of wiz, because they seemed intent on quizzing him on whatever inane subject they were going over and Ryuji flubbed every single one. 

As a final irritant, the clock on the wall ticked too loudly for Ryuji’s liking. 

Five o’clock. The words swirled around his mind for the entirety of classes, he didn’t absorb a single bit of their lessons for the day. 

_ Tick. Tock.  _

Mocking him. He wanted nothing more than for it to be five and for him and Akira to switch back like they were supposed to. Like they  _ probably  _ were. 

He wanted to look at Akira’s eyes from any other perspective that wasn’t in the form of a mirror or a passing window. He couldn’t shake how foreign it was running Akira’s fingers through Akira’s hair, how he’d been playing marionette for a week with the guy he liked and it was the opposite of everything he imagined it would have been like. He’d done… things that plagued him with immense guilt every time he dwelled on it, even when he knew Akira had done the same, but it made him less excited more so than it made him inexplicably nervous. 

Ryuji had seen Akira bleary on early mornings when he’d brush his teeth, and he’d taken selfies on his phone making dumb faces to use as blackmail later but Akira still looked pretty, somehow. Maybe it was just Ryuji who thought so. 

He tried on the clothes he bought Akira and made an effort not to spend too much time looking at Akira’s lean form as he changed. He burnt Akira’s tongue on Sojiro’s curry when he rushed to eat it in the morning. He somehow avoided every obscure person Akira happened to know except for the one that went to their school and he acted like a huge dickhead, god. 

And yet… what was somehow more shaking, was seeing  _ himself.  _ Hanging out with Akira, watching his limbs moving without his say so, noticing how crooked his smile was when it wasn’t from the point of view of a mirror or looking at a picture. A part of Ryuji couldn’t fully believe it was him, but it was  _ his  _ dyed hair,  _ his  _ bowlegs,  _ his  _ flashy clothes. It was the epitome of an out of body experience, watching himself from the third person in what wasn’t dissociation. 

It was still Akira… if he looked away and tried hard enough to convince himself of it. It wasn’t the worst when he was distracted, but he’d remember at the worst of times and the breath was stolen from his lungs until he got himself on track. 

Ryuji wasn’t sure if he hallucinated having lunch or not. He remembered Ann’s voice echoing in his head and his legs moving on their own accord, but he was back in class to endure the second half of the day before he knew it. 

It was a lax school day, any shit he might have received for not being in school the day before went in one ear and flew out through the other. It didn’t seem like teachers cared too much about the day's work, not with the Hawaii trip coming up the next day. It didn’t seem like anyone was really in the headspace, but all it did was disorient Ryuji more. Hawaii… It didn’t excite Ryuji as much as it did before. 

He was sure his heartbeat didn’t rest for a single moment counting down to when they were supposed to switch back. 

\-----

Then, it was ten minutes before five. 

Morgana informed the team that it was best that they try to put as much space between Akira and Ryuji and the rest of them, something about him not wanting anything to interfere with the switch. They were left to anxiously wait outside of LeBlanc as Akira and Ryuji waited around the attic. 

Now that it was the time, it barely felt real. It wasn’t until Ryuji forced himself to stop pacing and collapse onto the edge of the bed that he forced himself to breathe. Akira was only a foot away, already working on calming himself down. 

“Shit, this is really…” Ryuji said quietly.. 

Akira sighed, “I know.” 

It was stifling, the moment that passed. Ryuji felt it between them— Everything unspoken in the small space of distance between them.

“Ryuji, I—” 

“Kira—” 

So they both had a lot on their minds. It was no surprise, really, but…

“Go ahead,” Ryuji murmured. 

He—  _ his face _ — looked so tired. The lines under his eyes were worse than usual, and he wouldn’t look Ryuji in the eye.  _ Akira  _ wouldn’t look him in the eye. It was getting harder to remind himself. 

“I… I don’t know if everythings ruined because of all this, but— we’re still friends, right? I mean, I learned so much shit about you, we’re gonna have to… talk about it eventually, or something.” 

Akira sounded so breathless, so unsure of the stream of words coming out of his mouth, and Ryuji had to question if he even knew what he was saying. His words could be interpreted in a variety of ways and Ryuji wasn’t sure what exactly he was supposed to think. 

Akira continued after a deep breath. “Everything’s just… I can’t wait to meet your mom. Meet her forreal.”

“You’re using forreal now? This is worse than we thought,” Ryuji tried to joke, but his exhaustion tainted the jab and it fell bitter sweet. 

“Listen,” Akira countered, “It was a matter of ti--... Do you-- Ryuji, do you feel that?”

“Feel--?” 

And then he did.  _ That.  _

It was a pull, almost subtle enough for him not to have noticed it, right in the center of his chest. Like a lodge in his lungs, it was like an objectification of the shadows light that got them where they were in the first place that streamed through his rib cage. Ryuji felt every inhale of air in his nose but couldn’t breathe, not for the life of him. 

They were switching. 

The corners of Ryuji’s vision grew lighter. He must have looked as panicked as Akira did, but he grabbed Akira’s forearms to steady himself and the ball in his chest abruptly expanded. It jolted him forward in surprise, but he didn’t feel pained by the sensation. It only kicked the air out of his lungs, and he struggled to catch his breath as Akira was hunched over similarly. 

“A-Akira,” Ryuji wheezed, but the closer he got to Akira, the more intense the ball of light was. On a whim, he grabbed Akira’s hands and felt the effect immediately. The pressure was indescribable, but Ryuji knew it was a step in the right direction. 

Akira must have felt it as well. He looked at Ryuji through worried eyes, until they met gazes and silently communicated what needed to be done. 

It was Ryuji who all but threw himself into his own arms. He felt the secure weight on his back as soon as the light growing in his vision became unbearably bright, as did the new weight that had overtaken his entire torso. 

They were so close-- the  _ light,  _ it was so close. They were on the very edge of what felt like the switch, but--

“I-It’s not enough,” Akira’s voice was shaking dangerously, body close to vibrating against Ryuji’s as well. 

Ryuji tightened his hold, hoping it would tip them over the brink. “Why the hell ain’t it working?” 

He pulled back enough to face himself, what could have practically been a mirror of how worried he was. Except, he stared as his own eyes flitted around, trying to figure out what they were missing. His heart hammered in his ribcage, threatening to jump out of his chest if they couldn’t switch, not when they were this close. 

_ Tick, tock.  _

He couldn’t see the clock, but every tick of the minute hand echoed in his ears. Five, it was supposed to be… Five. 

_ Tick, tock.  _

Ryuji screwed his eyes shut. “This is gonna sound crazy.” His voice was barely a shell of itself, unrecognizable even to him. It almost… sounded like Akiras. 

It was more of a time than ever to act. 

Ryuji grabbed Akira’s face and placed their foreheads against each other. Lightheadedness and a bright flash overtook them-- it was so, so close. Just enough to reach out and grab it, but missing by a meer hairsbreadth. 

He was close enough to gaze at the chocolate of his own iris, close enough to hear his own heart beating out of its chest. Their breaths, what was left of it, mixed. Ryuji couldn’t tell what part of him was holding Akira and where any of his limbs ended, but he and Akira were a single entity and it felt like he was melting into him. 

And yet, Ryuji knew there was one final seal. 

He knew that the shadow must have been playing a sick game with them for what he assumed he had to do to complete the switch and he could only hope that Akira didn’t hate him for it. He was on the very brink of the light spilling out from between his ribs and overtaking his entire body. The air passing through him was thin as paper, easy to slice through if they weren’t careful. 

Akira must have known as well. 

They leaned back, just enough to gaze into each other’s eyes and nod in confirmation. Between a glance at the others lips, the anticipation of everything and what could have amounted to nothing simultaneously— 

“I-I know it’s—“ 

Ryuji didn’t know who leaned in first. He desperately tried to push the thought that he was kissing  _ himself _ when his lips landed against another pair.

White burned into his corneas, and all the air from his lungs dissipated into the light. It seeped out of his chest to the rest of his body, down to every fiber of hair. The heat of it was overwhelming as it was, but his mind was wiped clean at the prospect of kissing Akira’s soul that he wasn’t sure he wanted to open his eyes when the light behind his eyelids dimmed into dark, inky black. 

It wasn’t until Akira began shaking against him that Ryuji opened his eyes. 

Instead of brown, Ryuji saw piercing silver. Liquid mercury pooling in Akira’s eyes because he was tearing up, and it became blurry when Ryuji tears up as well because—

“It worked!” 

Ryuji should have been sick of seeing Akira, but he couldn’t have been, not when Akira’s smile stretched wide and he was already crying fat happy tears. Ryuji was sure he didn’t look any better, not when they were holding each other, trembling, trying to digest that they  _ switched.  _

They were  _ fine.  _ More than fine, in fact. 

Ryuji couldn’t resist the urge to lean in and kiss every part of Akira’s face that he could reach in his elation, letting Akira giggle through it and hold him even tighter. Every kiss punctuated with a mutter of, “ _ I— knew— we’d— be— fine—!”  _

He didn’t care if his lips tasted like salt or that Akira was still shaking, not when he was sure he’d explode himself out of sheer giddiness. 

Akira when he wasn’t in the view of a mirror— he was gorgeous as ever, even with blotchy cheeks and teary eyes. Ryuji didn’t need a reminder, but it was brand new when he’d been watching from Akira’s eyes for an entire week, using the arms that were currently thrown around his neck, walking around in the legs that found themself around his waist. It was Akira, truly in the flesh. 

It had taken a moment of patting each other down and incoherently whispering in their surprise to find the air to breathe and finally rest their foreheads against each other once more. 

There was no light in their vision or pressure in their chests— just pure, unfiltered relief _.  _

Akira sighed against Ryuji, his hold refusing to let up. Ryuji didn’t mind one bit. 

“About that talk…” Ryuji began, hoping to break the silence. It was a weight off his shoulders on its own that his voice was  _ his  _ again. 

“Not now,” Akira breathed, and he rested onto Ryuji’s steady weight even more. “But… You think they have ramen in Hawaii? I mean, we made a deal after all.” 

Ryuji quietly scoffed at him in disbelief, unable to believe he remembered the promise they made to him on the first night 

Instead of responding, Ryuji leaned in once more to catch Akira’s lips against his own in an earth shattering kiss that jumbled his mind more than the switch did, somehow. 

His knee hurt, and a million and a half thoughts swirled in his mind, but all he could focus on was being able to look into Akira’s eyes without it being in a mirror. 

No more  _ probably.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh there it is, i hope this isnt too bad? i know the writing isnt the best and the story isnt either but its the first longfic ive ever written and im trying to be proud of it. i know there are a lot of mistakes, i know!! BUT im so so so thankful for anyone who commented anything positive or encouraging, it pushed me not to abandon this. i learned a lot!! i know what i couldve done better and what to plan for the future, so honestly theres a 99% chance that i might rewrite all of this in a few years just to give the idea more justice than i managed now!! again though, thank you just for reading and keeping up, being able to write silly fics kept me sane and any encouragement at all meant a lot!!
> 
> also OBE stood for "out of body experience", as per the chapter title. and the part about there being ramen in hawaii is a reference to the first chapter (i think) of the bet they made that if they were okay, ryuji would get them ramen in hawaii
> 
> follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/cellwright)! also let me shamelessly promote my [36k pegoryu christmas fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841408/chapters/68162785) here, ;0

**Author's Note:**

> follow my twitter [twitter](https://twitter.com/kriswritesthing)!


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